Of Spell and Stone
by evrael
Summary: A wizard undergoes a mad quest for ultimate power. Luckily a swordsman and his friends decide to step in and mess things up a bit. Based on the online game, original characters
1. Prologue

Prologue: Hidden Chamber

The cave air was dank and musty, and smelled of rotting corpses and bat shit. Water dripped quietly from stalactites hanging ominously overhead. There was very little light coming off of the chemicals on the cavern walls, but the few torches that burned with magical fire enabled the wizard to see past the shadows into the inner chamber hidden deep within.

Very few people in the whole of Rune-Midgard knew of this place, but those few were enough to set the wizard to worrying. He didn't want anyone else getting his or her hands on what he was after, not when he'd gone to so much trouble collecting the needed items to obtain it. That thing was _his_, and he would not suffer it to end up in someone else's grubby paws.

The end was in sight now, and the wizard stepped into the chamber of rock. Here the air was strangely clearer, an indication that whatever lay within was still there, undisturbed. A smile found its way to his face. He brushed aside a stray strand of hair from his eyes and reached into his cloak for a spellscroll.

He had to admit, the entire set-up was brilliant. Not only was the object he sought entrenched in the deepest and least-explored regions of the Payon caves, it had been placed under a powerful spell of invisibility. Fortunately, he'd thought of that possibility, and now he opened the scroll and read aloud from it.

"Let that which had been hidden be revealed, and let that which had been unseen now be seen. Unto this caster thy power unfold, unto this caster thy will be told."

He released the magic. All at once, the inner chamber glowed with a faint, bluish light. The light grew too much to bear, forcing the wizard to shield his eyes. After a moment, he lowered his arm and stared with a mixture of awe and triumph at the dark blue orb sitting on a shattered bit of rock jutting out from the earth.

The Eye of Odin.

An unholy lust kindled in the wizard's eyes. "Yes," he whispered. "I've got it."

Just then, there was a startled yelp from outside the chamber. The wizard whirled around, staff at the ready, but the yelps magnified into snarls and sounds of fighting issued from without. Then, after several tense minutes, a swordsman stepped through the opening, covered from head to toe with bites and deep scratches.

The swordsman and the wizard both let out ripe curses.

The newcomer looked up in surprise. He had dark brown eyes and a typical warrior's build, and a silly-looking eggshell cap on his head. Wisps of red hair stuck out from beneath the protective headgear. His sword dripped with black blood.

The wizard glared at him. "You defeated the monster?" he asked incredulously.

"'Course I did," the swordsman answered grumpily. He was eyeing the wizard warily. "Who're you?"

The wizard drew himself up indignantly. "That," he growled, "is none of your business."

The swordsman shrugged. "I'm going to take that, if you don't mind." He indicated the blue orb.

The wizard raised his staff. "No, you will not."

The swordsman gaped at him incredulously, and then his expression became one of rising anger. "I beat that monster outside with my own two hands, and that means I have the right to whatever item it was guarding. I don't know how the hell you got in here, but you obviously cheated, so that thing—whatever it is—is mine."

The wizard laughed. The impudence of this young rascal was nothing short of hilarious. "Will you fight me as well, you foolish twit?"

"Who're you calling a foolish pregnant goldfish, you pansy-ass, flabby-limbed charlatan?" the swordsman roared, lifting his sword. Taking two long strides, he closed the distance between him and the wizard and swung his blade at him.

The wizard leaped back. "Ice Wall!"

The enchanted wall of cold, unyielding ice materialized before the swordsman, and his blade crashed harmlessly against it. Shouting obscenities, he began hacking away at the barrier.

The wizard turned, smiling smugly to himself. He snatched up the glowing orb and turned, intending to smash the wall _and_ the swordsman with a couple of sizzling lightning bolts, but then the wall of ice burst inwards, sending sharp slivers flying through the air. The wizard yelled in surprise as several of them embedded themselves into his face and chest. The orb slipped from his grasp and bounced on the rough cavern floor until they came to a stop at the swordsman's feet.

"Hah!" the swordsman exulted, picking it up and tucking it safely into his belt. "That's what you get for stealing someone else's treasure."

"Stealing?" the wizard hissed, eyes narrowing into dangerous, hard slits. He raised his staff. "It is you who stole from me, swordsman. And I do not take too kindly to thieves."

"Go burn down Morroc, then," the swordsman replied coolly, sheathing his sword and turning away. "See you around, you pansy-ass wizard wannabe."

The wizard lifted the staff and pointed it directly at the retreating swordsman's back. "Lightning Storm!"

The swordsman turned around. He'd never heard that spell before, and so he was shocked to find that a literal storm of lightning was racing toward him faster than any monster's swift claws. There was only a split-second to move, to save himself, and in that split-second he twisted desperately away.

Chunks of rock shattered and flew in all directions as the lightning spell smashed into the chamber entrance. The wizard spat out another curse and crouched low to the ground, avoiding the whizzing projectiles. An eternity seemed to pass before it seemed safe enough to look, and when he did, the curses streamed in earnest from his lips.

The passage to the hidden chamber was blocked by piles of rock. The wizard snarled and sent another lightning spell, this one less potent, at the annoying blockade, hoping that the swordsman was buried—and dead—beneath the pile. When the smoke cleared, however, the miscreant was nowhere in sight. He had managed to flee, taking the precious magical item with him.

The wizard resisted the urge to release another destructive spell and stepped out of the chamber. On the ground were splatters of fresh, red blood.

A grim smile appeared on his face. At least he'd managed to hurt the bastard before he got away. The wizard looked around, then, knowing that a monster much like the one that had been guarding the entrance to the chamber would soon appear, he tucked his staff beneath his cloak and stalked out into the pervading gloom.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One: "You're Henpecked, Evrael."

_author's note: still getting the hang of this place, so yes, prologue is chapter one and chapter one has become chapter two in that little selection box up there. don't mind. XD please do point out mistakes in anything, and thanks. _  


Sylvaene Isengarth Firefeather opened her eyes.

The world was a fuzzy blur of shadows and half-light, with the early-morning sun just appearing over the eastern horizon, its faint rays barely touching the edge of the curtains drawn together inside the bedroom window. She sighed contentedly, then turned over on her side and rested her head against the hard pillow of her husband's shoulder. Evrael was still asleep, snoring up a mild gale, his chest rising and falling in a soothing, rhythmic pattern. Last night had been fairly exhausting, but definitely in a good way. If they kept it up for a time, their daughter would soon have a little brother or sister toddling about in the house. Sylvaene basked in the memories of the past evening until several shouts from the street below informed her that something was amiss.

She got up and peered carefully out the window. A crowd was gathering at the west gate of Prontera, and her sensitive ears caught cries of "A healer! A healer! Someone go fetch an acolyte!" and "Is he dead? Great Odin, he's bleeding all over the cobblestones! He _has_to be dead!"

Sylvaene shook her head in disgust and donned her sage's cloak. "Ev?" she said.

No answer.

She bent over the bed and shook her husband. "Ev! Wake up, love. Someone's hurt."

Evrael opened his eyes and peered blearily into his wife's violet ones. "Wha-?"

"Get up, love. Grab the healing potions you've got in that backpack of yours and let's go."

He grumbled a bit but got up anyway and forced himself into his jeans and white shirt. Not bothering with buttons, he snatched up his backpack and followed his wife downstairs and into the street.

Getting through the crowd was no problem, not with Evrael. The big blacksmith simply shouldered everyone aside (sending several novices sprawling) until he and Sylvaene got to the wounded man. A chill ran through Sylvaene as Evrael knelt and turned him over. She sucked in a quick breath. "Oh, gods. It's Bosh."

Evrael swore soundly and reached into his pack for a white potion. "Damn fool swordsman! What did he take on _this_ time?" With a gentleness that belied his rough hands, he lifted Bosh's head off the street and poured the liquid down his throat.

At first nothing seemed to happen. And then, magically, the swordsman's wounds began to knit together and heal. Seconds later, Bosh Lightfoot opened his eyes and blinked up at them. "Yo."

Evrael glared at him. "Idiot! What monster did you attempt to chop up? A Baphomet? A succubus? I'm betting on the latter, since I haven't seen you with any girlfriends lately."

"Evie, be nice." Sylvaene scolded lightly. She was kneeling next to Bosh, a concerned hand on the swordsman's brow. "All right, Bosh, tell us…did the succubus attack you or did you try to seduce it?"

Bosh sputtered indignantly. "Neither. It wasn't a succubus." He groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "It was a wizard."

Sylvaene's brows shot up in surprise. She and Evrael exchanged glances.

Evrael got to his feet and extended a hand to Bosh. "Come along, Bosh. We'd better talk about this in private."

Bosh looked up at him plaintively. "Can't I have another white potion?"

"You'll have to pay for it."

"You'd charge a good friend?" Bosh asked incredulously.

"I'd charge anyone who was fool enough to rush headlong into something the way you do," Evrael retorted. "You're healed enough. You can sit down at the house."

Sit down was a common phrase in Rune-Midgard that meant rest and recovery. Most people thought it was a gift from the gods; that sitting down or squatting on the ground could actually heal you from even the gravest of injuries. Sylvaene knew better. Sitting down—having better commune with the earth—would help ease your fatigue and rejuvenate you, but you still needed an acolyte or healing potions if you wanted to save yourself from certain death. Some people, she thought with a hint of exasperation, will believe anything they hear down at the Pub.

Which brought to mind Bosh Lightfoot. She peered sideways at the red-haired swordsman, wondering if he'd gotten himself into trouble simply because he believed some prattling, mead-soaked idiot's drunken tale.

At the house, Bosh told them all about his battle with the creature that guarded a chamber deep within the Payon caves, hidden far away from the usual routes other warriors took. He told them about the wizard that was lurking about inside the cave, and then about the object that he'd found.

"You found something?" Evrael repeated, lifting his dark brows inquiringly. "What was it?"

"Not sure," Bosh said, groping about his belt for the item. "It looks like a blue enchanted stone or a blue gemstone."

Evrael groaned. "Bosh! If you wanted an enchanted stone, I've got bucketloads of 'em! All refined! You could have asked."

"I'd have to pay you for it!"

"Well, of course! I have to make a living!"

"You don't pay me when I offer to bodyguard you."

Evrael's eyes twinkled. "Whoever said I needed a bodyguard? I'm a battle-smith, Bosh, not a wuss."

Sylvaene listened to the banter, smiling to herself. Evrael most definitely did not need a bodyguard, and even if he did he would have died first than admit it. There was a time when he struggled at being a merchant; strong and determined as he was, monsters at the Byalan underwater caverns still wore him down. She knew that the embarrassment he'd felt that day was with him still, and sometimes she wondered if he wasn't already overdoing things.

Bosh let out a muted "Whoops," and the thing that had nearly cost him his life slipped out of his grasp to land with, Sylvaene found herself thinking, a kind of sullen defiance on the low coffee table.

It _did_ look a lot like a crystal blue or a blue gemstone that acolytes used to open warp portals. It was slightly bigger than either crystal or gem, however, and within it glowed a bright blue flame.

Evrael whistled. "Gods, Bosh, that _is_ something."

"It must weigh a ton," Sylvaene commented, reaching out with one slender hand and picking it up. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh…my mistake. It weighs hardly anything at all."

Evrael held out his hand, and Sylvaene dropped the stone into his palm. He blinked. "It_is_ light. Almost as light as air, and yet…" he squinted intently into the blue stone. "Doesn't seem hollow to me. Is it breakable?"

Before Sylvaene or Bosh could stop him, he flung the stone to the floor. Bosh shouted a belated "No!" and Sylvaene waited calmly for the sound of breaking crystal. What greeted her ears was the splintering of wood.

Evrael harrumphed. "Well, it's definitely magic. No ordinary gem this light could possibly shatter a good plank of oak floor."

"Which, my dear husband, you will immediately fix, correct?" Sylvaene asked pointedly. Evrael sighed and retreated to the back of the house, where the forge was.

Bosh went over and retrieved the stone. "Well, if Evrael can't appraise it, I suppose no one else can."

Sylvaene nodded. She had enormous faith in Evrael's ability to identify items and place its cost. He obviously didn't know what this strange, blue stone—orb would be a more likely term—was.

Bosh let out a sigh. "Then that trip to Payon was an absolute waste."

"Wait a minute," Sylvaene said, "If you found that thing in the Payon caves, how on earth did you manage to get all the way back here without finding the halls of Valhalla first?"

Bosh grinned impishly at her. "I dived into a warp portal this acolyte had just set up. I'd seen him earlier, and he was offering to warp people to Prontera for a thousand zeny."

Sylvaene stared at him. "You mean you just walked right into the portal, not even certain where it would land you?"

Bosh nodded.

"Oh, you idiot. What if that thing was meant to drop you off at Glastheim? Honestly, Bosh!"

"Hey, I'm here now, aren't I? And back in the pink of health, too, thanks to you and Evrael."

Sylvaene rolled her eyes, then smiled and patted Bosh fondly on the arm. "It's nice to see you again, Bosh."

Bosh grinned again. "Well, now that Evrael's managed to tell us that this thing's magical, we might as well set off to Geffen. I want to know why that wizard attempted to send me off into the halls of Valhalla, and I'd like an opportunity to get even."

"We?" Evrael repeated mildly, coming back into the house with a hammer, a fresh plank, and some nails.

"We. You, me, and Sylvie. I'd like some company."

Sylvaene thought of the wizard. Even a strong swordsman like Bosh would need some help against a wizard who could wield a formidable set of spells and was crafty enough to have eluded the creature guarding the chamber. Bosh wasn't stupid, but there were times when he was simply too impulsive. "Evie, why don't we? I'm curious about the whole affair as well, and this stone might actually turn out to be a most important find."

"We-ell…" Evrael hesitated. There was business to attend to, and a shop to run, but then he supposed he could always do some vending while he waited for Bosh and Sylvaene to figure out what exactly the stone was.

"Please, Evrael? Besides, you need to stock up on some blue gemstones for Evaene. You_did_ say you'd provide her with some." Sylvaene knew that her husband could hardly resist her when she asked for something; throw Evaene into the mix and you could get Evrael to do practically anything.

Evrael let out another sigh and scratched at his dark brown head. "All right. I'd better go upstairs and pack our things."

"You're henpecked, Evrael," Bosh told him matter-of-factly.

Evrael aimed a nasty scowl at him and headed for the stairs.

It took them about a day and a half to reach Geffen. Somewhere along the way, someone—most probably a novice—had used a dead branch and summoned up a sandman, which had run around the countryside terrorizing people. Sylvaene, Evrael, and Bosh had made quick work of him, ending the problem.

"Strange, though, that a sandman should last so long out here where it's hardly dry," Evrael muttered thoughtfully as they drew closer to Geffen.

Sylvaene abruptly turned to Bosh. "Bosh, would you go on ahead? There's something Evrael and I have to do. We won't take long."

Bosh was about to ask why when he caught a faintly nostalgic look in Sylvaene's usually steady eyes. "Right-o. I'll go straight to the Tower of Magic."

"We'll meet you there." Sylvaene promised, and Bosh strode off, whistling.

Evrael looked at his wife, puzzled. "What do we have to do? I can't remember making any—"

Sylvaene linked her arm with his and laughed gently. "You'll see, Ev. You'll see."

Some time later they found themselves standing at the edge of a platform. The platform itself was made of rock, and it was set at the end of a flight of magical stone steps at the mouth of the drawbridge west of Geffen. It was a high place, a secret place, as are most places where one could find the rare shining plants that sometimes yielded emperium. The wind was cool and soothing, and Sylvaene looked out over a clear lake towards the Tower of Magic.

"Remember when I first brought you here?" she asked, her voice soft.

"How can I forget?" Evrael replied. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Wasn't this where I proposed?"

Sylvaene giggled. "No, love, I think you proposed in the Prontera culverts."

His green eyes bulged. "What?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

She giggled even harder. "Just kidding, love." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the nose. "Shall we rejoin Bosh?"

Evrael nodded. "Are we done here?"

"All I wanted was to feel what it was like to stand here with you again." Sylvaene smiled as she led the way down. "People may know me as the Ice Queen, but I'm really just as vulnerable as the next woman. I wanted to be sure that my heart would be safe with someone I could really love, and when I found him, I never let go."

Evrael had turned bright pink. "Sylvie…"

She had to laugh at his expression. "What? Don't you agree?"

Evrael grinned. "Love, I used to be a merchant. I appraise everything—and everyone. Between the two of us, love, I think you got the worse end of the bargain."

"Are you saying you got a very good deal, then?" she asked dubiously.

He pulled her to a stop and gave her a short, sweet kiss. "Oh, yes. You could say it was a once-in-a-lifetime offer."

Bosh Lightfoot glanced up at the Tower of Magic and frowned.

He'd never really liked mages. Or archers, for that matter. There you were, making your way to a certain monster you were intending to cut up, and suddenly 'Kaboom!' or 'Thwack!' and some pansy-ass mage or archer would come prancing along to collect the loot. It was annoying, to say the least. Sylvaene, however, he liked. For a mage-turned-sage, she was pretty kick-ass. 'Probably the only sage that actually uses her staff to _hit_ something,' Bosh thought, chuckling. Amusing himself with the imaginary scenario of Sylvaene marching imperiously into the Tower of Magic and beating up mages left and right with one swing of her staff, he entered the tower.

'The sad thing about this stupid set-up,' he grumbled silently, 'is that the head mage is up at the very top. Why couldn't she have set up office down_here_ where it's obviously more convenient?'

He finally reached the top. Puffing a bit, he raised his fist and banged it against the door. "Oi, open up! Someone's here to see you!"

When several moments passed and no one had answered, Bosh knocked again. "Stupid mage," he growled softly. "Come on, I ain't got all day!"

Still no answer.

"Coffee break?" Bosh wondered aloud. He tried the latch.

The door swung silently open.

The hairs on the back of Bosh's neck suddenly stood on end. He knew this feeling all-too well; the feeling that something wasn't quite right, or that someone was watching you intently from the shadows. Carefully, he unsheathed his sword and advanced into the room.

The chamber was dark, lit only by weak torches set on the walls. Bosh noted that the fires were just about ready to burn out. He squinted through the gloom and saw a figure sprawled out, facedown, on the desk in the center of the room.

Still cautious, he tread slowly toward the figure. There was just enough light for him to identify the unconscious woman. She was the head mage that resided in the Tower of Magic, the one who authorized a novice's advancement to the status of mage…

And she was quite possibly dead.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: "He won't be Bosh."

Bosh whirled around at the sound of heavy footfalls outside the room, his sword at the ready. The killer might have come back to make sure the mage was really dead. Bosh dropped into a semi-crouch and waited, every muscle in his body tense.

The footsteps paused at the door. Then, the door was pushed open, and a familiar set of dark green eyes appeared, visible in the faint torchlight. "What the--?"

"Evrael!" Bosh heaved a sigh of relief. He relaxed. "Thank Odin it's you."

The blacksmith entered the room, followed by Sylvaene. "Bosh?" the sage called out. "What's going on? Why is this place so dark?"

Bosh was about to reply when both Evrael and Sylvaene's eyes fell on the woman that was slumped over her desk. Evrael barked out an exclamation of surprise. Sylvaene, however, sprang into action. She took three quick strides across the room and felt the head mage's pulse.

"Turn her over," she said tersely.

Galvanized into action, Bosh and Evrael tugged at the mage's shoulder until Sylvaene could feel her throat. The silver-haired sage frowned slightly.

"There. It's very faint, and horridly erratic. She's probably been poisoned."

"Assassins," Evrael growled, his eyes darkening.

Sylvaene pursed her lips. "Perhaps. Let's not jump to conclusions. There _is_ some rivalry among mages; quite possibly one of this woman's enemies tried to do her in." She looked at her husband. "Ev, can you and Bosh carry her downstairs? She needs an acolyte, and fast."

Moments later, though to the trio it seemed an eternity, they were in the entrance hall of the Tower of Magic, surrounded by frantic, scrambling mages all fresh out of training and by novices who were staring on in goggle-eyed fascination.

"The woman's dying, you twits!" Evrael roared. "Make yourselves useful and call an acolyte! NOW!"

"Nice," Bosh commented mildly as the novices dashed away.

"Rudimentary." Evrael shrugged, digging around in his pack for anything that could counter the poison. "Now then…green herb, green herb…no, wait, that won't do, she's out like a light…"

"No use, Evie," Sylvaene said, shaking her head. "We just have to hope that—"

"_Aniki_?" a light, familiar male voice called from the main doors, and Evrael, Sylvaene, and Bosh looked up to see a priest in an unusual blue and black garb standing curiously just out of the shadows.

Evrael's eyes lit up with relief. "Waffle! Help us out here, will ya? This mage's been poisoned."

K'thaiel Firefeather, Evrael's younger brother humorously nicknamed Waffle, scuttled over and bent closely over the stricken mage. "Hoo boy, yep. No doubt about it." He stood up and closed his eyes, pulling in his will and concentrating.

Light flared up all around the mage's limp body. After a moment, Sylvaene felt her pulse again.

"Just a bit stronger," she murmured, surprised.

Waffle's eyes widened. "What?" he gasped. "That was my strongest healing spell!"

"Try again," Evrael suggested. The fact that his tone was calm only meant that he was quite alarmed.

The priest did, and was met with the same result. Sylvaene hissed. "That can only mean one thing."

"What?" Bosh asked, glancing from the mage to his friends and then all around at the gathering, panicking younger mages.

"Magical poisoning," one of them, a red-haired, blue-eyed young lad, replied almost involuntarily. "I—I just finished reading up on it. It—it's very powerful...specially since if you didn't know the spell that caused it…"

"You can't counter it." Sylvaene slowly stood up, her eyes still on the head mage.

Evrael stared at her. "You mean she's just going to die?"

Sylvaene's expression was grave. "It could come to that…I'm hoping that she was able to protect herself at least partially from the spell, and that she's strong enough of mind and body to fight it. She's got a chance—a rather slim one, but it's still a chance." She turned to face Waffle. "Waf, you must call a gathering of priests and priestesses. Perhaps prayer will aid her."

Waffle nodded. He was still obviously shaken that his healing magic had failed, but he whirled around and sprinted out of the Tower.

Sylvaene then turned to the young mages. "You people, carry the head mage to her room and stand guard over her. There's no telling if whoever did this will return and—"

"You're askin' us to be cannon fodder for that freak?" one mage demanded in a high-pitched voice. "No way, lady!"

She fixed him with a steely glare. "Would you rather be cannon fodder for _me_, then?"

He gulped. "Err…no."

"Then do as I say."

"Odin, I don't know who's scarier," Bosh swore. "You or your wife."

In spite of the situation, Evrael was trying to suppress a grin. "It's hard to tell sometimes, but you can always place your bets on Sylvie."

When the head mage had been tucked into bed and the priests that Waffle had managed to find were in her room, chanting prayers, Sylvaene, Evrael, Bosh, and Waffle retreated into an adjoining chamber.

"What's going on?" Waffle asked. "I just got here and I was gonna buy some blue gemstones when I heard there was a commotion at the Tower of Magic, so I went to investigate."

Bosh recounted his story. Waffle listened intently, his hand straying to an inside pocket from time to time and fishing out food. The priest's blue hair was in its usual ruffled state beneath an eggshell cap similar to the one Bosh wore. Bosh often found it hard to believe that Waffle was actually Evrael's younger brother, but under all that dark clothing Waffle had on, he certainly had a touch of Evrael's solid, physical strength. Waffle was thinner than his brother, and looked more good-natured. But Waffle was a lot more cunning than he appeared, whereas in the world of merchants and money-grubbers, Evrael struggled to earn an honest living.

"So," Waffle said, brushing himself off and frowning pensively at the table, "you got into a tussle with a wizard in the Payon caves over a little, blue gemstone that my brother can't identify and is obviously a thing of magic since _Aniki_ couldn't break it. So you bring it over here, to Geffen, with the intention of getting a mage to identify it, but found the head mage almost dead."

Bosh nodded. "What ya think?"

"I'd say something fishy was going on."

"That," Evrael drawled lazily, "is an understatement."

Waffle grinned, and then his expression became serious once more. "Think about it. Just when you figure out that Bosh's little bit of jewelry is actually magical in nature, the one person knowledgeable enough to put a name to it is found poisoned, nearly dead."

Sylvaene leaned forward. "So you're saying it's not just coincidence?"

Waffle shrugged. "Maa…well, I'm not too sure, but events are just a little too…_related_, wouldn't you say?"

Bosh rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. "I see your point, Waf, but then…who could possibly have done it?"

"Who else could it possibly have been?" Sylvaene demanded. "That wizard who tried to kill you."

"But I left him in Payon!"

"Bosh," Sylv said patiently, "he could have asked an acolyte to warp him directly here."

"Oh…right."

Evrael rolled his eyes. "Well, at least we know one thing for sure."

Everyone looked at him. "What?" Waffle asked.

Evrael jerked a thumb at Bosh. "That wizard'll be after _him_ next. He's got the stone."

Bosh felt like a bastard sword under a magnifying glass. Everyone was now looking at him. "Hey, he just took me by surprise the first time," he protested defensively. "I'm ready for him now. He won't be able to get me."

"Can we really afford to take that chance, though?" Sylvaene said gently. "Bosh, you're our friend, and we'd hate to see anything bad happen to you."

"Sylvie's right," Waffle nodded.

Bosh spread his fingers wide. "Well, what do you all suggest I do next? Hide out in some abandoned monastery like a crazy hermit?"

Evrael scowled at the table, thinking. "We're stumped right now. We can't do anything until we've identified that blue stone, but we can't exactly stay here in Geffen. It's a bit of a hotspot right now, what with that mage poisoned. The younger mages will all probably want us to leave."

Waffle's blue eyes were twinkling. "Say…I have an idea."

Sylvaene raised an eyebrow. "Let's hear it, Waf."

Waffle was clearly suppressing the urge to grin. "We can travel back to Prontera and seek shelter at the Sanctuary. We priests don't mind hiding people from dangerous murderers, and we might even be able to help with figuring out what that blue stone is. While Bosh is lying low, you and _Aniki_ could contact your 'spy' network and try to ferret out the name of that rogue wizard."

Evrael and Sylvaene's 'spy' network was actually composed of people they had helped out before, all completely unconnected to each other. All that husband and wife would have to do was call in the favors.

Sylvaene smiled. "That _might_ work. Ev?"

Evrael nodded. "We'll give it a shot. But Waf, we don't want to put the priests at the Sanctuary in any sort of danger. Having Bosh walk right up to it would probably do just that."

Waffle was grinning unabashedly now. "That's why, for the duration of the journey, he won't be Bosh."

"I," Bosh grated through clenched teeth, "am going to kill you for this, Waffle."

Waffle smiled beatifically and handed him a veil. "No, you're not. Now put this on and let me get your nice, girly, red sandals."

Bosh stamped his foot. "I do NOT want those stupid, girly, red sandals! I want my boots!"

"Well, you can't wear them with that priestess disguise you've got on or you'll give the whole game away."

Sylvaene was trying very hard to suppress a grin. "It's not that bad, Bosh…"

Bosh glanced at her and reminded himself to focus on her face. JUST her face. "Easy for you to say. At least you're keeping your gender."

Sylvaene the sage was dressed in a very skimpy, very revealing blacksmith's work-clothes. The male blacksmiths had jeans and a white shirt open nearly down to their stomachs. The girls, however, were outfitted usually in torn, very short shorts, and a collared, sleeveless blouse that showcased their upper assets in what most people would think to be a very flattering manner. Sylv's long, silken hair was tied up in a ponytail, and there was a little heart tattoo—fake—on her right shoulder-blade.

She assessed herself critically in a mirror. "It's too…rough." She turned around to face her husband, who was squatting on the floor. "What do you think, Ev?"

Evrael didn't say anything. It was possible that he couldn't, since the sight of Sylvaene would turn even Father Mareusis on. There _was_ a bit of drool at the corner of Ev's mouth.

Sylvaene placed her hands on her hips. "Love? I was hoping for a bit of support?"

Evrael seemed to shake himself out of the trance he'd slipped into and cleared his throat. "Not bad," he said, getting to his feet. "Not bad at all…"

"Somebody needs a cold shower," Bosh muttered. Waffle pressed his lips together and snickered.

Sylvaene sighed. "It's hardly believable! Look, I don't have the muscle to back up this costume."

"You can just say that you're a newly-forged blacksmith," Waffle said. "Now, then…_Aniki_, it's your turn."

Evrael scowled. "Do I have to wear something like what Bosh is wearing?"

Sylvaene's violet eyes lit up. "Bosh, would you do me a favor?" she asked.

"Sure, what?"

"How long do you think it would take to find a knight's garb and a peco-peco?"

Bosh raised a single brow. "Not long…why?"

Sylvaene's expression turned mischievous. "I've had this recurring fantasy about Evrael for the longest time, and this is just the excuse I've been waiting for to actually see it."

Bosh rolled his eyes, picked up his skirts, and stomped downstairs.

Evrael gave his wife a doubtful look. "A knight, love?"

Sylvaene smiled. "Well, the test at the academy _did_ say you were fit to be a swordsman, didn't it? I just wondered, that's all." Her fingertips were tracing his outlines in slow, languid trails.

Evrael smirked and wrapped his arms around Sylv's tiny waist. "Well…if you say so…"

"Don't mind me…" Waffle said pleasantly, teasing the couple, "I'm just the coat hanger."

Ev and Sylvie both turned slightly red. Evrael didn't relinquish his hold on Sylvaene, though.

A moment later, Bosh returned with a knight's armor, helmet, and cape. "The peco-peco's outside, tied up to a silly mage with nothing better to do," he growled, dumping the lot on the floor. "Go on and pretty yourself up, darlin'," he said to Evrael, outrageously blowing the blacksmith a loud, smacking kiss.

Evrael grimaced, but went over and donned the armor. He winced as chinks in the chainmail grazed his skin. "Nice and airy, isn't it? Must've been an idiot that forged it." He turned to his wife. "Well? What do you think?"

Sylvaene had that mysterious little smile on her face that most people knew. "I think you look very handsome, Evrael."

"Now someone _else_ needs a cold shower," Bosh muttered.

"They can shower together to save on water." Waffle commented mildly.

"That would render the point of taking a cold shower moot, wouldn't it?"

"I think they'd rather moot the point, don't you?"

"You're not making any sense. As usual."

"If that's so, why'd you let me dress you up?"

"Point for Waffle's side," Evrael chuckled.

"Let's not keep count," Sylvaene said, giggling. She sighed and looked down at herself. "I really don't think this will be believable."

"We could say that you went through a prolonged illness that weakened your muscles." Evrael shrugged. "Or…here, why don't you try my battle-axe?"

Sylvaene bravely grasped the hilt and attempted to lift it off the ground. The head of the axe rose up several inches and refused to go up any further.

"Okay…" Evrael said, a sweat-drop appearing on his head. "How 'bout my old axe? I think you can wield it better."

The sage managed to swing the axe around without appearing awkward or uncertain about it. She still looked doubtful, however. "No one is going to believe me," she moaned.

Waffle pondered the problem. "Well, I guess it's the acolyte's garb for you, then…"

Evrael grasped Sylvaene's arm and pulled her close. "Oh, no. No way. We can just stick with the prolonged illness story."

"Pervert," Bosh snorted. Evrael grinned.

"And I," Waffle began, smiling broadly, "will be a mage."

"Oh, I think you'd make a very striking mage, K'thaiel," Sylvaene told him, nodding her approval.

"It's not fair…" Bosh whined. "You all get to keep your genders and I don't. Can't you make Evrael wear a skirt?"

Evrael let out a sigh of resignation. "I can see this will take some visual explanation." He removed the armor and slipped into an adjoining room. Some minutes later, he came back out, dressed in a merchant girl's outfit.

It took every bit of Sylvaene's self-control not to laugh. Evrael had gone to great lengths to try and look like a woman. He even put on a blond wig. But even with the wig and the simple merchant's blouse, the fake appendages on his chest, and the long, puffy skirt, there could be no way in Rune-Midgard that anybody would mistake him for a woman.

"I…uh…see your point," Bosh muttered.

Evrael snorted. "Not quite yet you haven't. Watch."

He gingerly reached into his pack. As he dug around for an item, the seams at the shoulder of his blouse ripped asunder, revealing hard, chiseled muscle.

Sylvaene didn't smile. She didn't giggle.

She guffawed.

No one save Evrael had ever heard her laugh like that, and so it was a while before Bosh and Waffle joined in. When Ev was back in his own clothes and Sylvaene had wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes, the priest turned to Bosh and patted him consolingly on the shoulder. "You really shouldn't fret, you know. I intend to disguise myself as a female mage."

Evrael had been lifting the broadsword he was going to use as part of his disguise. He dropped it, and it fell with a resounding clatter on the stone floor. Sylvaene froze. Bosh's mouth hung open, but nothing came out.

"And here I was intending to lend you some of Sparky's clothes," Sylvaene said after a moment, as if nothing monumental had just happened. Which, of course, nothing had.

Waffle shook his head adamantly. "No way! Who knows where that mage has been in those clothes of his? I've had my own made, thanks."

"So Waf's uncertain," Bosh murmured to Evrael as soon as Waffle was out of earshot and happily trying on his disguise, "and your other brother's certainly playing for the other team. Are you sure you're not…you know…"

Sylvaene pointedly cleared her throat.

"Oh, right…well, you're certainly married and everything, you even got a kid…but some guys get married, have kids, and then leave their wives to hook up with other…"

Sylvaene cleared her throat again. Her cool, violet eyes bore into the swordsman with all the iciness of a Cold Bolt.

Bosh gulped. "Err…I suppose he's lavished enough attention on you for you to be absolutely certain that he's straight—"

"Bosh," Sylvaene said warningly, her voice very low.

"Right…Ah…maybe I should just go—"

"Away, yes."

Bosh hurried out of the room.

It was evening when Bosh, Evrael, Sylvaene, and Waffle set out for the capital city of Prontera. Not used to riding, Evrael had loaded the yellow peco-peco with all of their things, keeping only his own weapons with him. The others had their weapons nearby—Waffle carried Sylvaene's rod, Sylvaene had Evrael's old axe, Bosh had Waffle's smasher, and Evrael had strapped Bosh's sword to his back. The sword's weight was lighter than the battleaxe he'd forged for himself, but it was a weapon nonetheless, and there was always a chance that they'd be attacked by night creatures along the way.

"Do you have any experience in using that thing, love?" Sylvaene asked him as they passed through the city gates.

He looked at her, surprised. "Of course, love. The pointy end goes into the other guy. Right?"

Sylvaene rolled her eyes. "Odin, help me."

"Ditto," Bosh rumbled, chuckling good-naturedly.

They walked on into the night.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: "Like a Hornet's Sting in the Arse…"

It was on the second night of their travel that danger appeared.

One minute, they'd all been chatting quietly about past adventures and misadventures. The next minute, the peco-peco had let out a deafening squawk, and all hell had broken loose.

There were hordes of them, popping up from the ground like deformed, mutated plants. An almost unbearable stench of decay filled the air, drowning out the scent of leaves and the nearby lakes.

"Zombies!" Evrael roared, tossing the broadsword to Bosh, who tossed the smasher to Waffle. "Watch out!"

"Look out, Sylv!" Waffle yelped, snatching Sylvaene out of the way of a zombie that was reaching for her.

"My staff, K'thaiel!" she shouted. She heard a guttural groan behind her, and she whirled around, slamming the axe's blade into the head of the creature that was sneaking up on her. It lashed out at her, but it was too clumsy to actually land a hit, so she bashed it again and again until it fell, shuddering at her feet.

"That'll teach ya!" Bosh roared, slashing and hacking at every zombie that came his way. "Take that! And that!"

"Holy Light!" Waffle yelled in a commanding voice. The zombie that he'd cast the spell on crumbled instantly into dust. He repeated the spell over and over again, pointing imperiously at any zombie that came within five feet of the group.

Evrael tore the battleaxe free from the trappings on the peco-peco and swung it fiercely at an entire group that came his way. He couldn't quite get the axe to swing back; the dumb bird was immediately behind him and was still panicking, sending batches of bright, yellow feathers showering down on the blacksmith.

"Curse it!" he swore, swatting the feathers away from his eyes. A zombie hovered in front of him, dangerously close. He kicked at it, and it stumbled off to one side, revealing another one behind it. Evrael knocked it over the head with the battleaxe—he couldn't quite lop its head off—then pushed another zombie roughly away from him. Was it his imagination, or were the undead monsters ganging up on him?

An idea occurred to him then. He gathered as much momentum as his limited space would allow him, then dropped down and rolled directly into the group of zombies before him, bowling most of them over. Then he got to his feet, whirling his axe around him in a vicious, whistling arc. The zombies that crowded around him quickly got their heads chopped off.

The stink was growing worse. Sylvaene blinked a thin film of tears from her eyes and shouted at Waffle. "I think you're forgetting something, K'thaiel Firefeather!"

Waffle glanced down at the staff he still held in his hand. "Oops!" he exclaimed, tossing it to her. "Sorry!"

Sylvaene resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead began casting spells all over the place like there was no tomorrow. Fire and ice rained down upon the walking dead, rapidly depleting their numbers. Sylvaene noted, however, that with every zombie that fell, another rose up to take its place. 'Damn it,' she thought, sweat trickling down her temples. 'Just how many _are_ there? And where are they all coming from?'

"Are we in trouble yet, or what?" Bosh yelled over the continuous, droning moan issuing from their assailants.

"Not…quite…yet!" Evrael snarled through gritted teeth as he smashed through the crushing horde. "Sylvie, are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" she called back, sending sharp slivers of ice into a quartet of walking dead. "You?"

"I'll live!" he roared, twisting to one side and slicing a zombie in half.

Minutes passed, and finally the number of zombies diminished. Bosh drew out a knife and sent it hurtling away toward a lone undead creature dragging itself over towards Evrael. "Finally! They're almost all dead."

Waffle wiped the sweat from his brow and looked around. "Anyone in need of healing? Sylvie?"

Sylvaene looked down at herself. Only a few minor scratches, nothing serious. "I'm fine, K'thaiel. Just a tad low on spiritual power, but I'll recover."

"Bosh?"

"Nah, I'm good." Bosh said, wiping the blade of his sword on the grass to clear it of blood. Of course, he failed to see that there was already a great deal of blood on the grass to begin with, so he swore and got up, then walked a bit further away from the group.

Evrael grinned wolfishly. "So, Bosh, how does fighting in a skirt feel?"

Bosh rolled his eyes. "Positively humiliating."

Sylvaene looked over to her husband to ask him something. Her eyes went wide. "Ev! What happened to you?"

Evrael shook his own blood off his arm and shrugged. "I guess I just happened to get the bulk of the zombies."

Sylvaene had rushed over and taken his arms. She turned them this way and that, examining them, then carefully ran a hand over his shoulder. "Good gods, Evrael…if it hadn't been for the armor…"

"I'm fine, Sylvie," the blacksmith insisted. "There were just too many lucky zombies tonight, that's all."

Waffle and Bosh came over. "Gee, Ev, you look like you just walked through Payon Cave without a weapon." Bosh noted.

Evrael snorted. "I guess the peco-peco got in the way at first. I mean, how could I swing the axe without turning our pack bird into dinner?"

Waffle healed him, and his wounds slowly knit up and vanished. Evrael thanked his brother, then removed the knight helmet from his head. "I need a bath," he lamented.

"What we need is a good place to hide." Sylvaene said, looking around. "I'm not so sure we're finished tonight…there might be more—"

"Look out!" Evrael roared. He shoved Sylvaene roughly to one side, then swung his battleaxe in front of him in a small, tight, vertical arc. Something bounced off the blade of his axe with a metallic _ping_.

"An arrow…" Bosh muttered, then grabbed at a heavy bag from the still-frightened peco-peco. "Archers!"

He leaped in front of Evrael just as a hail of arrows descended upon them. The bag took most of the feathered projectiles. Unfortunately, one arrow fell just a bit too low, and nailed Bosh in the thigh. He roared, stumbling backward and losing his balance.

Evrael caught him under the arms before he could hit the ground. "Run, you two!" he shouted to Sylvaene and Waffle. The peco-peco had turned around and was making better headway than its masters, and they were out in the open. Gritting his teeth, Evrael began to drag Bosh away from the storm of arrows.

Bosh stared at one that landed a little too close for comfort on the ground. "It's an undead skeleton archer's arrow," he panted, his arms shuddering with each new blow his makeshift shield took.

"That's where I put all my clothes in, by the way," Evrael grumbled, still backing away.

Sylvaene was scanning the surrounding trees and underbrush for any sign of movement. Finally, her sharp eyes caught a flicker of something a good twenty yards away. She raised her staff. "Napalm Beat!"

Ethereal tongues of flame appeared from the sky, shooting down toward her intended targets. There were sudden screams as skeletons, their bodies on fire, stumbled out from behind their hiding places and thrashed around on the grass.

"Too bad we don't know any archers," Evrael said. "Come on, Bosh, get up and have Waffle heal you. We have to—"

Whatever he had been about to say was rudely and painfully cut off. An arrow slammed down into the part where his shoulder met his neck, and Evrael went down with an agonized howl.

Sylvaene screamed his name once, and then her eyes went deathly cold. A strange, nearly inhuman aura seemed to surround her. Slowly, purposely, she raised the staff, pointing it in the general direction of the undead skeletons. There were coming out into the open now, chasing them, still firing off arrows. To the sage, their undead grins were wider than was expected, and they all seemed to be laughing. At her.

She closed her eyes and drew in her will. Every bit of thought, every ounce of consciousness turned inward. Threads of power wound their way through her, around her, and away from her.

And then she released the spell.

A howling, screaming rush of unequaled power and magic streamed forth from the sky, streaking directly for the undead archers. There was a deafening roar as the magic collided with its targets. The spell drove the skeleton archers into the dirt, destroying them utterly, leaving the few survivors to turn around and escape.

Sylvaene raised the arc staff once more. Again, there was that stirring of power. And then she unleashed another spell, one that swamped the retreating skeleton warriors and destroyed them completely.

Waffle and Bosh watched, stunned. Just as they were about to come to the conclusion that Sylvaene had somehow lost her mind, she whirled about. Dropping her staff, she raced to her husband's side.

Evrael was cursing under his breath, one hand reaching for the arrow that seemed to jut out of his neck. Sylvaene stopped him. "No, don't," she said. Her voice was still calm, but somehow it had grown very small, and very frightened.

Waffle hurriedly scurried over. "Can it be pulled out?"

"Sure, if you want to tear his throat out along with it," Bosh said sarcastically. "We'll have to snap the arrow just at the tip, and then bind the wound…or heal it, since you're around, anyway."

Waffle nodded tersely.

Bosh limped over to where Evrael lay, then dropped down next to him. "Sorry, Ev," he muttered, then took hold of the arrow and snapped it off.

Evrael snarled. Blood spurted onto the grass. Sylvaene quickly placed her hands over the wound. "Now, K'thaiel!"

Waffle held out his hands. A soft, warm light emanated from his palms, then wrapped itself around the blacksmith. After several moments, the light faded and Evrael sat up, rubbing gingerly at his shoulder. "That," he said gruffly, "hurt like a hornet's sting in the arse."

"It would have had even worse consequences," Sylvaene said softly, taking his arm. "How do you feel?"

"A bit sore."

"That's to be expected," Bosh grunted. "Now, then…can somebody help me with taking this one out?" he pointed at the arrow that jutted from his thigh.

Sylvaene took in a deep breath as if steadying herself. Then she bent close and examined Bosh's leg. "This one looks deep as well. I can dig out the arrowhead, but it will be painful. Do you trust me enough to do this, Bosh?"

Bosh managed a shaky grin. "Sylvie, did ya really have to ask? Go on. Evrael can sit on my chest so I don't thrash around too much."

Evrael smiled. "Hit my sore shoulder and I'll knock you out. Understand?"

Sylvaene took a thin-bladed dagger from beneath her cloak and got down to work. Waffle, who could barely stand the sight of blood, much less actually seeing the inside of someone's thigh, turned green in the face and resolutely looked away. Evrael kept Bosh pinned to the ground despite being pummeled by the swordsman's occasional howls of pain.

"You scream like a girl!" Evrael roared back each time Bosh let out a screech.

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Bosh yowled at him.

Waffle swallowed nervously. "Is it safe to look now, Sylvie?" he asked in a tiny voice.

Sylvaene pursed her lips. "Hold on…just a bit more…and there," she announced, tossing the arrow away. "Heal him up, K'thaiel."

Waffle sighed with relief and healed Bosh's leg. Bosh went limp. "Oh, thank Odin," he panted, wiping sweat off his forehead.

Evrael suddenly raised a hand. "Hush…" he said. "Listen."

Someone was singing. It was a medium-pitched voice, male, and a bit out of tune. The sound of wheels grinding on dirt reached their ears, and then the clink of various items banging against each other followed suit.

Out of the shadows of the night came a peco-peco pulling a wagon. The wagon itself looked like a traveling miniature house, with a roof, several windows, and most probably had a door at the back. A merchant with long, green hair tied up in a high ponytail was driving it, and he was singing some silly ditty about love and adventure being an explosive mix. _"Oh, to be a swordsman in lo-ooo-ooove…is a curse and a blessing indee-eee-eed..."'_

"Yikes," Bosh muttered.

The merchant caught sight of them and pulled to a stop. "Oi!" he called out, smiling broadly. "Greetings, fellow travelers. Undertaking a night journey, are we?"

"Not the smartest way to travel," Evrael said, chuckling. "What with monsters about and all."

The merchant eyed them closely. "Wow…you guys look like you just got into a tussle with a bunch of pirate skeletons! Need anything? Potions, herbs…no, wait, I see you have a priestess…" his face contorted a bit when he saw Bosh's messy red hair sticking out from beneath the brown wig he'd been wearing. "Err…well…and, uh…" his eyes had focused next on Waffle's chest; the 'mage's' top was quite obviously uneven and one of his makeshift appendages was missing.

"Yes, well, as you can see, we're a rather sorry lot," Evrael said. "We were actually surprised by marauding zombies."

"Zombies!" the merchant exclaimed. "Good gods, how did they get out all the way here?"

Evrael shrugged. "Lord knows."

The merchant shook his head. "Say," he said, his blue eyes lighting up. "Why don't you ride with me? I'll take you to Prontera—that's where I'm headed; they say you can make a real profit there—and being in a wagon should provide more protection for all of us. You look like you need the rest, sir knight, you're a trifle pale, if you don't mind my saying so, and…"

"We'll take you up on that offer, thank you," Sylvaene cut in smoothly, with a disarming smile. "K'thaielle, why don't you sit up there with him and keep him company? Just in case anything else comes up?"

Waffle looked as if he'd just been tossed into a pit full of snapping vadons. "O-okay…"

They got into the wagon, Sylvaene, Evrael, and Bosh inside the roomy, snug interior, Waffle sitting next to the green-haired merchant. Bosh and the Firefeathers could hear the merchant merrily chatting away at Waffle, who could only respond with a monosyllabic sound of agreement every so often. Soon, the merchant's babble became an unintelligible drone, and the three weary travelers slipped into restful sleep.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: "You'll See Soon Enough…"

The back of the wagon jostled about as it disappeared into the crowd. Bosh rubbed at the back of his neck, yawned, then turned to Evrael, Sylvaene, and Waffle. "So, now that we've said goodbye to that talkative merchant, where to? Sanctuary?"

Waffle didn't answer. His face was fixed in a scowl, and he was glaring at everything and everyone.

Sylvaene suppressed a smile and nodded. "Yes, the Sanctuary would be the most logical choice, don't you agree, Waf? All that peace and quiet just waiting for you."

Waffle bared his teeth. "I am _never_ riding with that horrible merchant again! He yakked my ears off to Ragnarok, do you know that? And all the time, "Can I see ya do a spell? Can I see ya do a spell? Can I see ya do a spell?" over and over again! Augh! Never have I met such a ridiculous, garrulous fiend as this world's ever seen!"

"Aw, give him a break, Waf," Evrael said.

"Certainly! Where? His neck? His leg?"

Evrael laughed. "He was probably lonely, and wanted a girlfriend. A one-breasted girlfriend, but a girlfriend nonetheless."

Waffle glared at him. "To the Sanctuary," he grumbled. "I can't wait to get back into my priest's robes. That way, all I have to contend with would be "Heal me! Heal me! Heal me!" and so on and so forth."

"If you ask me," Bosh said in a low undertone to Evrael and Sylvaene as they began to walk to the Sanctuary, "I think he'd have more to complain about with people asking for heals and blessings and divine protection."

"He's probably just sleepy," Sylvaene said gently, linking her arm with Evrael's. "After all, the merchant talked all night, I believe. And we all know how K'thaiel loves his sleep."

They walked down from the West Gate, turning left at the first street they came to. Sylvaene had cautioned them against passing through the town square. "No telling if our homicidal wizard will be there, waiting for us." The street wasn't quite so empty; there were just enough people to hide their passing.

Bosh noticed a subtle change in Sylvaene. She hovered very close to her husband, and for as long as it could be helped, she was always touching him. Right now they walked arm-in-arm, even if there was a chance that he'd accidentally bump into her and send her sprawling (which used to happen every so often). Bosh smiled to himself. Usually, it was Evrael who was in high-gear protective mode. Now, until Sylvaene was absolutely certain that her husband had recovered from last night's harrowing experience, it would probably be the other way around.

They reached the Sanctuary. Entering, they were immediately greeted by the usual doormen; the young lad and the old, bent man. Both youth and elder claimed they knew everything an acolyte needed to know about being in the service of the gods. Of course, the real person to talk to was Father Mareusis.

They found the saintly, middle-aged man in his chambers. The priest smiled when he saw Waffle, and his smile grew even wider when his eyes lit on Evrael and Sylvaene.

"Well, well…" he said, shaking hands with all of them and beaming, "to what do I owe this family visit? Are you planning on selling this poor old priest all of your expensive items, Evrael?"

Evrael caught the teasing twinkle in Father Mareusis' eyes and grinned. "No, but I _was_ planning on buying your Sanctuary and turning it into my own personal forge."

Father Mareusis laughed. "Well I remember the day you and your wife got married here. How is Evaene? I haven't heard from your daughter in a while."

"She's still running around with that thief," Evrael snorted.

"Evie, dear, he has a name," Sylvaene scolded. "Evaene is fine. She told me that she was going to try and reduce the number of undead orcs up in Orc ville."

Father Mareusis looked alarmed. "Will she be all right?"

Sylvaene smiled and patted his arm reassuringly. "She will. She's a good acolyte, and she has her friend Drifter Gerr by her side."

Evrael snorted again, but there wasn't really any heart in it, and Bosh took it to mean that he had no real qualms about Evaene being in close quarters with that particular thief friend of hers.

It was then that Father Mareusis realized something. "You know, K'thaiel…" he said, looking the disheveled 'mage' up and down, "I've seen cross-dressing porings look better than that outrageous costume you're wearing. There is a reason for this disguise, I presume?"

Waffle's face burned a deep red flame. "Yes, Father, there is…." He looked at Bosh Lightfoot.

Father Mareusis turned to the 'priestess'. "This young lady is…?"

"Actually a man," Evrael said, yanking Bosh's wig off.

Bosh grinned engagingly at the priest. "Hi, father. I'm Bosh Lightfoot. I'm a swordsman, nearly a knight, and I'm in a wagonload of pure, grade A horseshit."

Father Mareusis frowned pensively as he turned the glowing blue stone over in his hands. He had a magnifier on the desk, as well as several scrolls of parchment, very old and brittle.

"Interesting..." he murmured to his audience. "Very interesting. See how it glows as though lit with an inner fire? How even in the shadows of this room it continues to burn, which means it does not reflect light, it has its own." The priest put the stone down on the desk and rubbed at his chin, perplexed. "Gemstones do not do that."

"Unless of course they're powered by the will of the user," Waffle said.

Father Mareusis nodded. "If that is the case here, then who is using this stone? And what does this stone _do_?"

"You got us, Father," Evrael said, scratching the back of his neck. "I can't figure it out. It's nothing I've ever seen or heard of before."

The priest took up one of the scrolls he'd laid out on the table and carefully rolled it down. "I will look through some more of these old scrolls. There are some that touch on ancient, powerful objects, most of which are no longer known to man, nor has man recently come by any of them. In the meantime, why don't you rest? Enjoy the peace of the Sanctuary. Sir Lightfoot will certainly appreciate the change of pace."

Bosh looked at him, a bit startled. Father Mareusis smiled genially at him. "You've forgotten, Sir Lightfoot, that I was present at your knighting."

The swordsman stared at him for a long while, then chuckled ruefully and shook his head. "Well, my fall from knighthood isn't something I like to remember, which means I try not to dwell on what was probably the proudest moment of my life. Sorry, Father, I really didn't recognize you."

Father Mareusis sighed. "It was too bad, really, Sir Lightfoot."

"It's just Bosh again, Father. And probably will always be, even if—emphasis on if—I get back into the Pronteran Chivalry." Bosh shrugged and stood up. "I'll be in my room."

Waffle stood up as well. "I'll show you to it. You'll probably love it—it's got paintings depicting battle-priestesses in action…lots of action."

"Can't wait," Bosh grinned, and both of them left the priest's room.

When the door had closed behind them, Father Mareusis stroked his beard, frowning. "Why _did_ he get kicked out of the Chivalry? I mean, from what I heard before, he was a very good knight."

Evrael scowled. "Someone says he caught Bosh stealing ancient artifacts and relics from that museum they call a castle. They did a search and found some of the stuff in his room. Bosh told them he never did it."

"He was out visiting a friend when the thefts started to occur," Sylvaene said. "There was no way he could have done it. And even if he were around, Bosh would never have touched anything in that castle that wasn't his. I know him well enough."

Father Mareusis' face darkened. "He was framed! Who could have done such a thing?"

Evrael shrugged. "Who knows? Someone who was jealous of this newcomer who obviously is a big hit with the ladies, or maybe Bosh just happened to come in handy when the real thief decided to make his move. But the whole affair stinks of a frame-up."

Sylvaene nodded. "Right now, Bosh is trying to find a way to clear his name. It's a good thing that the Pronteran knights decided to keep this whole thing a secret from the public. Poor Bosh wouldn't be able to show his face anywhere near here if they had gabbed."

Father Mareusis sighed again. "I shall pray for him, my friends. Perhaps Odin will hear my plea and restore Bosh to his rightful place in the Pronteran Chivalry."

"I think Bosh would rather that you first figure out what that is, though," Evrael chuckled, pointing at the glowing blue orb. "He nearly got himself killed taking it from its hiding place in the Payon caves, a wizard is after him because he's got the stone, and, as we've said, zombies and skeletal archers were climbing all over us last night, probably because of that little trinket."

Father Mareusis laughed. "Ah, yes, of course. Between this and Sir Lightfoot's ex-knight status, I'd say this was the more pressing matter."

Evrael heaved a sigh as he and Sylvaene left the Sanctuary. The silver-haired sage looked up at him, mildly concerned. "Love? Is something the matter?"

"Nothing, Sylvie. I just can't wait to get home, that's all." He grinned, wrapping an arm lightly around her shoulders. "I can't wait to get into a nice, hot tub, get myself cleaned up, and then…" he left it hanging, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Sylvaene suppressed the urge to roll hers. She _knew_ what was coming. Evrael could be so _transparent_ sometimes. "What are you thinking of, love?"

"Well…I was thinking that after our bath, we could—"

"_Our_ bath? So you were thinking of bathing together? From the start?"

"What's wrong with that?"

Sylvaene wanted to laugh. "Oh…nothing, I suppose," she replied flippantly, feigning disinterest. "It's just that I wanted to go to the beauty parlor and have my hair shampooed professionally—those god-forsaken zombies made a sorry mess of it last night—and then I was thinking of having my nails done—"

She was abruptly cut off when Evrael pulled her closer to him and looked imploringly into her face. "Is all of that _really_ necessary?" he asked.

This time, Sylvie gave in and laughed. "All right, all right! You win, Ev." She put her arms gently around his neck and kissed him. "You _know_ I can't really resist you, you great, big lug."

Evrael wrinkled his nose. "Lug?"

"Lug," Sylvaene said it with a note of finality. "And now that we're almost home…"

She stopped, staring at the door of their house.

"Love?" she said softly, pulling slightly from his embrace. "Did we leave the door open when we left for Geffen?"

Evrael had also noticed that their door was just a bit ajar. His hand was already reaching for his battleaxe. "No, love," he said in a low rumble. "I believe we barred it and locked it, exited through the forge's door, which we then locked thrice over. You even put wards on both doors."

Sylvaene glanced at him. "I believe we have a visitor."

Evrael nodded. "And I think we should kick him out."

They entered their house on silent feet, moving very slowly. Sylvaene would have seen it if their visitor had left any unwanted wards in place of the ones he had somehow managed to bypass and destroy. There was none.

'The wizard that's after Bosh?' Sylvaene wondered, her sharp eyes roving through the kitchen. She and Evrael parted ways, with a single touch from Sylvaene warning him to be extra careful. He responded with a cheeky wink and moved away, as quietly as a jungle cat. When it mattered, Evrael could move like an assassin.

Which, Sylvaene knew, was probably what was upstairs waiting for them. She had a feeling that they wouldn't find the intruder anywhere downstairs. There was a lot of furniture—which could be turned into handy projectile or bashing weapons if need be—and a lot of culinary instruments—chopping knives, steak knives, and any other sort of knife, all of which Sylvaene knew how to use with more grace and finesse than anyone else. She smiled; she knew her husband would hate it if he ever found out, but once, when Drifter Gerr the thief was around, she'd asked him if he could teach her some knife tricks. He had probably been amused, but he _had_ obliged her.

A telltale creak from upstairs confirmed Sylvaene's suspicions. She crept back from the kitchen to rejoin her husband, who was poised at the foot of the stairs, a dagger in hand. She smiled her approval; the battleaxe would have been a tad too large for in-house fighting. Evrael gave her another cheeky wink.

It was then that the intruder—and someone else—came rolling down the steps.

Sylvaene shouted, and both she and Evrael jumped out of the way. The intruders landed with a loud, undignified thump on the floor. There were flashes of sand-beige and dark violet, the metallic clanging of steel against steel, and then the intruders parted. One staggered back against the staircase, the other rolled away and came gracefully to his feet.

Evrael said, "Well, I'll be damned," and then reached out with a steadying hand to grasp Drifter Gerr's arm.

The thief was out of breath, and blood ran from several gashes across his chest. "Good afternoon, sir, ma'am," he greeted Ev and Sylv courteously. He managed a grin. "How are things?"

"Muddy," Evrael snorted. His green eyes betrayed concern for the thief. "You don't look your usual spanking best, Drifter."

Drifter jerked his chin out, indicating the tall, lean assassin that stood before them. "Sort of ran into bad weather, if you know what I mean."

Sylvaene stepped forward. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice low and cold.

The assassin lifted a solitary brow. "That," he replied in a snakelike hiss, "was a stupid question, coming from a sage and directed to an assassin who obviously has no identity whatsoever."

"Not much of a social person, is he?" Drifter asked lightly, straightening up. Evrael noticed that the dagger he held dripped blood. The blacksmith glanced at the assassin and saw that a small pool of blood had gathered at his feet, trickling from a gash his side.

Sylvaene bristled slightly at the assassin's words, but it was Evrael who stepped forward. The tall blacksmith held his dagger almost casually at his hip, and his stance was deceptively relaxed. "I don't appreciate people calling my wife stupid," he said quietly, his gaze dead set on the intruder. "And I don't appreciate murderers waltzing around in my house. So…unless you want your head cracked open, I suggest you leave and never set foot in this city again."

The assassin sneered. "You are a blacksmith. Slow, heavy-handed, with muscles suited only for forging, not for speed. You won't stand a chance against me."

Evrael smiled. "Wanna bet?"

"Ev…" Sylvaene began.

"Don't worry, Sylvaene. I can take him." Evrael shifted his grip on the dagger ever so subtly. "Come on, assassin. Try and kill me. That _is_ what you came to do, isn't it?"

The assassin held out his hands. The _katars_ on both arms gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight that seeped in through closed windows, and then the man attacked.

Sylvaene gasped. He had moved so quickly that she hadn't even seen his weapons come up. But somehow Evrael had, and he had blocked one _katar _with the blade of this dagger while his free hand had come up to snatch the assassin's other wrist.

The assassin's face twisted in a grimace of pain. He lashed out with his feet at Evrael's knees, hoping to somehow break free of the viselike grip Ev had on him, but Evrael stood fast, merely gritting his teeth against the sting of the assassin's kicks. With each kick, the assassin's control on his own weapons slackened, and Evrael continued to drive him back and down. When the assassin was nearly on his knees on the floor, Evrael suddenly shifted his grip on his arms and twisted the _katars_ neatly off.

"Nice!" Drifter exclaimed, grinning widely.

Sylvaene went to stand between the assassin and his weapons. "I'll ask a different question, assassin. Who sent you to kill us and why?"

The assassin rolled away from Evrael, intending to escape, but Evrael was one step ahead of him; he stomped on the assassin's robe and pinned him to the floor, then lifted one heavy, booted foot and aimed a stunning blow to the assassin's jaw.

Drifter sighed. "I'm beginning to feel rather useless here," he quipped, going over to where Evrael had the assassin pressed against the floor. "How _did _you block that first attack, sir?"

Evrael grinned. "I took a concentration potion just before you and Mr. Pointy here came tumbling down our stairs. I saw those blades coming even before he took a step toward me."

Drifter laughed. "Now, then, Chuckles, answer the lady's question. Who sent you? And why does he want these good people dead?"

The assassin glared at him. Sylvaene noticed that his eyes, which were very blue, gleamed with an inner fire and passion otherwise absent in his blank, emotionless face. Tufts of silver hair stuck out from beneath the _sakkat_ he wore.

Evrael put a little more of his weight on the assassin's chest. The assassin growled. Evrael smiled. "It's extremely rude not to answer someone when they've asked you a question. It should be simple enough. Who sent you and why?"

The assassin managed a grim smile. "Don't you know our ways, blacksmith?" he asked, his voice sounding a bit strained. "We only get our orders from our master, the head assassin. We care not where the orders came from, or why. We do as we are told, and that is that."

Evrael snorted. He looked over at Sylvaene. "We won't get anything out of this guy. We should hand him over to the authorities."

Drifter made a derisive sound. "This guy can slither out of any knight's grip. He's trained to do that." He smiled coldly. "Let me handle him. We thieves know how to deal with our kind."

Sylvaene shook her head. "We need to know why he was sent to kill us."

"Kill?" the assassin repeated, sounding amused. "Ah, no, my lady. Not kill."

Evrael glowered at him. "What, then?"

The assassin smiled. "You'll see soon enough."

As if on cue, there came from outside the sound of people running. Shouts and wails of alarm filled the air. Above every other hysterical yell was one that rose clearly.

"The Sanctuary! The Sanctuary is burning!"


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: "By Odin's left eye, they're all over the place!"

Evrael's teeth bared themselves in a snarl as the angry blacksmith glared down at the assassin. "We'll deal with you later," he hissed, then kicked the man solidly in the jaw. The assassin's head snapped backward and his eyes rolled up into his head. He lay there a senseless heap.

Sylvaene was already out the door. Drifter Gerr quickly caught up to her, followed at a slower pace by Evrael. They joined the streaming mass of Pronteran citizens that were heading toward the Sanctuary.

"Oh, no..." Drifter said.

Glancing upward, Sylvaene saw a writhing tongue of bright orange fire dancing against a dark red sky. Framed by the setting sun, the fire rising from the Sanctuary seemed to blend in with the heavens, leaving the sage with the impression that the entire world had burst aflame.

"Bosh…" Sylvaene gasped. Waffle, too, was inside the Sanctuary. So were about a dozen or more pious acolytes and priests and priestesses. Father Mareusis. Sylvaene bit her lip and ran on, terrified that all those lives may have been lost.

Wizards, mages, and sages alike were casting ice spells all over the Sanctuary when Sylvaene, Evrael, and Drifter finally managed to push their way past the throng of spectators that had gathered. Sylvaene added her magic to theirs, noting that the fires were already beginning to die down in several places.

"Waf!" Evrael roared, craning his neck and peering agitatedly over the heads of the crowd. "Bosh! Answer me, you fools! Where are you?"

"There's Father Mareusis." No sooner than he'd spoken, Drifter slipped past a group of shoving young novices and came back moments later with the priest. Father Mareusis looked a bit shaken, but otherwise unhurt.

"Where are Bosh and K'thaiel?" Sylvaene demanded as she built up a wall of ice around the cemetery behind the building.

Father Mareusis wiped his brow. "I don't know," he admitted breathlessly. "They—they were inside, in one of the rooms…I couldn't get to them; the fire started from the chapel itself…"

"_Aniki!_"

Evrael whirled around so quickly he sent several people flying. "Waffle!"

Waffle Firefeather stood just beneath the blazing arched doorway of the Sanctuary. He was supporting a semi-conscious Bosh on one arm. Waffle's face was smudged and singed in several places, and he looked ready to drop himself. "_Aniki_, help!" he cried.

Evrael dashed toward the doorway. Before he could reach it, however, one of the steeples of the Sanctuary tore free from the roof and came hurtling down towards him.

Sylvaene's eyes widened. "Ev!" she screamed.

"Souls of the Ancients, I summon thee! Come forth!"

Bolts of white light shot toward the falling steeple and obliterated it, leaving nothing but splinters of wood and bits of cement. Evrael ran on, oblivious to the debris pelting him, and finally reached his brother. He grabbed Bosh's other arm and slipped beneath it. "Come on!" he yelled.

Meanwhile, Sylvaene searched for the wizard who had cast the spell. A huge wave of relief welled up inside her when she saw a young man with dark-blond hair standing just at the edge of the crowd, his hands raised to cast yet another spell. "Sparky…"

Sparky Winterblaze, Sylvaene's cousin and budding wizard, glanced over in her direction and smiled reassuringly, then resumed casting ice spells all over the Sanctuary.

Finally it was over. The fires died down, and a sweeping wind brushed the people of Prontera with a blessed coolness. The Sanctuary, most of it gutted down to a few beams of wood, stood shrouded in ice.

Drifter Gerr leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. His face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes glittered with intense curiosity. "And this is why half of the Sanctuary's in ashes, correct?"

They were in the Firefeathers' home, sitting around the kitchen table drinking tea, or, in Bosh's case, a tankard of mead. In the center of the table was the little blue orb, glowing merrily along with the fire burning in the hearth. The mysterious assassin was gone; he had most probably come around during the commotion at the Sanctuary and had escaped. Evrael had been most put out.

Sylvaene nodded. "Father Mareusis was trying to figure out what it is. He thinks it's an extremely rare item, a very powerful one, but what it can do is still a mystery to all of us."

Drifter rubbed at his chin. "Hmm. By the looks of it, it's probably the only one of its kind. What say you, Sparks?"

Sparky Winterblaze took a sip of tea as he regarded the glowing stone. "I believe there is much research to be done," he said noncommittally. "All we can really say for certain is that someone out there knows what it's really worth, and he's doing everything—up to an including murdering innocent people—to get it back." He looked around gravely. "A mystery though this stone is, it may hold enough power to destroy or create worlds."

Evrael grunted. "So what should we do with it? It's already proven that it can't be destroyed by any ordinary means."

"Perhaps magical spells can destroy it. Or at least keep it hidden."

Drifter Gerr shook his head. "I'll have to admit, this thing's got me stumped. I usually know my gemstones."

"Father Mareusis implied that it might not just be a gemstone." Waffle said. He had healed himself and Bosh from the burns they had acquired in the fire, and he was now munching on an apple from Sylvaene's pantry.

They stared at the blue orb a bit longer.

Then Sparky stood up. "I will go to the library to look up rare and powerful items," he announced. "Maybe the answer lies in one of the scrolls there."

Drifter stood up as well. "And I'm going to Morroc. I'll pass by Orcville first and let Evaene know what's been happening."

"You won't tell her _everything_, will you?" Evrael asked him.

Drifter smiled. "I'll try not to get her all worried about you or your wife, if that's what you're thinking."

Evrael nodded. "Good. What do you know, we just _might_ get along after all."

Drifter grinned at that, then left. Sparky embraced his cousin and departed as well, his wizard's cloak flapping behind him in the night breeze.

Sylvaene briefly thought about both men. Sparky was thin and effeminate, and he had a special relationship with Thaniel Firefeather, Evrael's youngest brother. He was an exceptionally smart wizard, and he carried himself with a bit of the haughtiness that most of their class affected. His spells were powerful, but his body itself was weak, and he was almost utterly incapable of attacking anything physically, much less taking a physical attack. But he was there when you needed him, and he was extremely loyal to Sylvaene and Evrael. The thief Drifter Gerr, on the other hand, was lean and tough, having been put through the most trying of experiences. He had started out as a novice in Payon, his natural agility and dexterity giving him the potential to become a very skilled archer. Drifter hated archers, however, with about as much passion as Evrael hated thieves. He had opted to travel, however difficult it was, to Morroc, intending to join the ranks of the many thieves that lurked throughout Rune-Midgard. Once a thief, Drifter traveled all over the continent, battling monsters and building up quite a colorful reputation. He was, however, also enormously dependable, if one discounted his penchant for disappearing in the middle of an adventure only to pop up once again for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

Bosh sighed.

Sylvaene looked at him. "Whatever's the matter, Bosh?"

Bosh looked glum. "I've put all of you in danger, just because I couldn't let go of some silly little blue stone. You never would've gotten mixed up in all this if it weren't for me." He sighed again. "Maybe I ought to just leave."

"And go where?" Sylvaene asked. She got up from her seat and gently put a hand on his shoulder. "Bosh, we're your friends. We do not consider it a burden that you come to us when in need."

"Sylv's right," Evrael rumbled. "If we were ever stuck in a similar situation, you'd be the first person we'd go to for help. You are our oldest and truest friend, and I'd rather eat a fabre alive than leave you in danger with no one by your side to help you."

Waffle grinned. "Same goes for me," he said.

Bosh turned red. "Aw, go on! You guys're makin' me blush." He smiled at them. "But thanks."

Sylvaene laughed softly, then took the blue orb and handed it to the swordsman. "In the morning, we travel to Alberta. Perhaps one of the merchants in Ev's old guild will know what this is. And, who knows? Perhaps Sparky will have come up with an answer by morning. But right now, we all need some rest."

Evrael looked around the house. The windows and doors were all bolted shut, and he had left nothing flammable in the forge. "I'll stand watch for the first few hours," he announced. "Waf, you take second watch. Bosh, you'll be third shift. I'm not taking any chances that we'd get another unwelcome visitor. This _is_ my house, you know."

It was the pigeon that alerted him.

Bosh was walking around the second floor of the Firefeathers' home, trying to stay awake, when he saw the bird sitting casually on the windowsill. The pigeon had just settled comfortably on its perch when it glanced up, cooed, then fluttered off in, what seemed to Bosh, panic. He heard a very faint scuff above him, one that might have escaped him entirely if the pigeon hadn't warned him.

'Evrael's gonna kill me,' he thought, sliding his sword from its sheath and pulling back. "Magnum Break!" he roared, then swung the blade up toward the ceiling. Wood splintered and flew apart, and then a dark-clad form fell from the rafters.

Bosh slashed at the intruder. The man ducked, then swept out his leg, tripping him up. A dagger, long, thin, and most probably poisoned, appeared in the intruder's hand.

Something came hurtling through the air. It slapped the dagger away, then embedded itself in the wall, quivering. A small axe.

"Ninja!" Evrael snarled. The blacksmith stood in the doorway to the bedroom he shared with Sylvaene, clad only in his jeans. He carried his battleaxe in one hand, his backpack in the other. "In _my_ house! Out!"

The ninja backed away. For a moment, it looked as if he was truly intimidated by the huge, half-naked man that was shouting at him. Bosh would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation if several more dark-clad forms hadn't come crashing through the windows.

"Oh, crap!" Bosh cursed. "By Odin's left eye, they're all over the place!"

There was a startled cry from the bedroom. Evrael immediately rushed back in to help his wife, but there was actually little or no need. Sylvaene was up, wrapped in a blanket, her sage's Book clutched to her chest, and she was casting spells on the hapless ninja that came piling in through the window.

There was one, however, that stood his ground. He dug into the folds of his clothing and pulled out a tiny, metallic sphere. This he threw to the ground, just as Sylvaene had climbed off the bed and was moving closer for a physical attack. The sphere hit the floor, bounced once, then exploded in a burst of blinding, searing white light.

Sylvaene gasped. She shut her eyes and turned away, but it was too late. She knew that for quite some time after she'd be blind, with only dancing spots for visual companions. She thought she heard someone cackle, and then a voice said, "Can you still cast a spell over someone you cannot see, sage?"

"Sylvaene!" came Evrael's roar. Something whistled through the air, something _huge_…and then there was an agonized shriek of pain. Sylvaene heard heavy steps coming her way and relaxed even before she heard Evrael's angry mutter.

"Blind my wife, will you? Walk around with that axe stuck in your gut, friend, and we'll see how you fare against _that_ disability." A hand rested on Sylvaene's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, Evrael," she answered, reaching out and grasping his arm. "Just blind for a week or so, is all."

"Uh…guys?" Bosh shouted from the hallway. "Need some help here!"

"Bosh needs help?" Evrael snorted.

Sylvaene chuckled. "Be my eyes, Evie."

"Don't worry. I will." Evrael hooked an arm around his wife's tiny waist and guided her out into the hallway. Sylvaene wasn't sure if he'd retrieved his weapon, but there was no time for that. Suddenly, the air was filled with whistling projectiles, deadly, bladed ones, and Evrael was parrying them with a blade—that much Sylvaene could make out.

Then Evrael said, "To your right! Now, Sylvie!"

Sylvaene raised her staff and cast ice bolts in the direction he'd pointed out. Howls and shrieks echoed through the corridor.

"Bull's-eye!" Bosh whooped. He noticed that Sylvaene's eyes were shut. "What happened?"

"Later," Evrael said. He turned, yanked out a shuriken that was embedded in the wall, and threw it at a ninja that was crawling in through one of the windows. It smacked the unfortunate man with its flat side, rendering him unconscious. He fell into the bushes outside the house.

Bosh groaned. "You are such a lousy aim, Evrael!"

"Shut up and hand me that little axe in the wall."

Meanwhile, Waffle was having the time of his life downstairs. Ninja that charged at him were slapped in the face with Holy Light and the Bible. Waffle was strong enough that each slap knocked a ninja out of his senses, and those that where struck with Holy Light went down, blinded. Waffle marched over to each of these and promptly smacked them over the head with the holy book. Within minutes, the living room and kitchen were littered with unconscious ninja.

"Sleep well, children," Waffle chortled. "And now—"

_Thwack!_

Waffle yelped. His hand flew to his neck. 'A dart?' he wondered. His brain was already slowing down, and the room began to spin around him, moving faster and faster. He turned, trying to locate the ninja that had shot the dart, then it occurred to him—belatedly—that he ought to cure himself first of the sleep poison. He tried to gather enough will to use his spiritual power, but then his world closed in on him, wrapped in velvety darkness.

Bosh, Evrael, and Sylvaene had reached the tiny landing between floors just as Waffle went down. Evrael's eyes widened at the sight of his fallen brother. "Waf!"

"Curse all you confounded ninja to Loki and back!" Bosh yelled. He slashed at one of the three ninja that were after them, opening up a gaping wound in his chest.

"Bosh," came Sylvaene's calm voice, "duck."

Bosh obeyed immediately.

"Souls of the ancients, spirits of the past, I summon thee! Come forth!"

Wisps of powerful, ethereal magic zipped past over Bosh's head, one of them taking his egg shell cap along with it despite Bosh's yelp of protest. The magical spell drove into the remaining ninja, lifting them up and slamming them against the wall—and then _through_ the wall and into the garden.

"That takes care of that." Sylvaene said. "Bosh, are you all right? I didn't hit you, did I?"

Bosh stood up, running a hand over his messy, red locks. "No, but you _do_ owe me a new egg shell cap."

A sickening crunch alerted them to the fate of the ninja that had shot the dart at Waffle. Evrael's tiny axe had found its way into the man's skull, and he lay on the floor, dead. Blood pooled beneath his shattered head.

Evrael went over and picked Waffle up. He set the priest gently on the couch, then turned to survey the damage done to his house. "Not bad," he grunted sarcastically. "A few more ninja and this house wouldn't be left standing."

Sylvaene sighed. "Our enemy _really_ wants this blue orb back."

"If we only knew why…" Bosh muttered. The swordsman looked dejectedly at the ruined house.

Evrael caught the expression on Bosh's face and immediately felt guilty complaining about the current state of his and Sylvaene's home. He gave himself a little shake and went into the kitchen. "Ah, well, nothing a few planks and some nails won't fix. Bosh, would you go make sure there aren't any more ninja lurking about outside?"

Bosh led Sylvaene to the sofa, then trotted out the front door.

Sylvaene smiled. "That, my dear, was a noble effort on your part."

Evrael grinned. "I try, love. I really do. Now then, here's a green potion. Regain your sight, I'll wake Waffle up, we'll tidy things up a bit here, and move on to Alberta."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: "Show him what it means to mess with a Firefeather!"

'Dear Evaene and Drifter,

Good day, dears. Evaene, your father and I, Uncle Bosh, and Uncle Waf are off to Alberta to find out what we can about the blue stone your Uncle Bosh found in the caves of Payon. We're going to have to make a quick stop at Payon village since K'thaiel no longer has a warp point at Alberta. As Drifter has undoubtedly told you, the blue stone seems to be a very important and very powerful object that a certain wizard refuses to let go of. We are all in good health, and we've managed to stay on top of everything. We do need your help; there are too many zombies lurking around the Payon caves these days, and K'thaiel cannot handle all of them with as much ease as you do. Drifter, would you happen to know of anyone who manages a ninja troupe and hires them out as assassins?

At any rate, be careful. There's no telling if danger will strike at you as well. The wizard who is after your Uncle Bosh might know the Firefeather family tree, and may attempt to hurt me and Evrael by harming our loved ones. Be ever alert, my children. May Odin and the other gods keep you safe.

Love,

S.'

Payon was every single bit as Bosh remembered it. Set deep in the forest, across a tranquil river, the highland village enjoyed sweet, clear air and the sounds of wildlife instead of the hustle and bustle of Prontera or Izlude. It was a little hard to believe that Alberta, the port city of merchants, stood just a little ways off, down a tricky and sometimes dangerous path in the Payon forest.

Evrael set down his backpack and eased his cart to the ground. "Warping was never a pleasant business for me," he grumbled. "I feel like half my wares fall out whenever I warp."

Waffle smiled. "Well, it's just a feeling. Kind of like a carpet's being pulled out from under you, which isn't altogether unpleasant, you know."

"Fine, whatever. Now, before we head on to Alberta, I need to make a living. Sylvie, will you be all right without me?"

Sylvaene smiled and patted his arm fondly. "We will, don't worry. We'll just go on up to the Central Palace and talk to the fortune-teller. Maybe she would know something about the stone."

Evrael nodded. He kissed Sylvaene's cheek and then went about setting up shop.

The Central Palace was actually quite a self-important, stuffy little place. In Prontera, one was not required to remove one's weapons and armor whenever one entered the castle. In Payon, however, under the flimsy excuse that the village was a peaceful and peace-loving community, one had to surrender one's armor and weapons to the guards at the door.

Bosh looked slightly uneasy without his sword or his eggshell cap (Sylvaene had replaced it, naturally). "I don't trust places that ask you to give up your weapons and your armor," he grumbled, looking around warily. "It's usually places like this that get you killed."

Waffle seemed unruffled. "Don't worry, Bosh. I can still heal and cast Holy Light, and Sylvie here can still cast spells. She doesn't need a staff or a book to cast certain spells, you know."

Sylvaene arched an eyebrow. "What spells are you talking about, K'thaiel?"

"Oh, you _know_, Sylvie. The spell of seduction, for instance, requires only a minimal gyrating of the hips, and the spell of charm needs but a few radiant smiles thrown in the direction of the castee…"

Bosh groaned, but then started to laugh. Sylvaene merely shook her head and gestured toward a doorway halfway up the passage. "Here she is. Shall we enter?"

The fortune-teller was this middle-aged woman in a purple hooded cloak. She looked up as Sylvaene, Bosh, and Waffle entered. "I knew you were coming today," she said matter-of-factly.

Sylvaene's brow climbed upward again. "Yes, well, do you know what we're here for?" she asked directly.

The fortune-teller drew herself up indignantly. "Of course I do, young one! I shall tell you why you are here…" her gaze turned crafty. "I do not, however, give my information freely."

"Don't you just wish Evrael were here?" Bosh asked as he took out his coin purse.

"What for?" Waffle snorted. "_Aniki_ wouldn't shell out a single zeny. He doesn't believe in fortune-tellers."

"He would do well to listen to one such as I," the fortune-teller said, accepting a thousand zeny from the swordsman. "I sense that you are on an important quest."

Waffle leaned forward expectantly. "Are you gonna let us watch you use your crystal ball?"

The diviner looked at him as if he were daft, then turned her eyes to Sylvaene and Bosh. "You have faced quite a number of trials…" she said slowly, seriously.

"Lady," Bosh began, "we've all faced quite a number of trials. The novices who pop up here have to go through a great stretch of forest just to reach Prontera, and from there, who knows what other dangers await them?"

The fortune-teller smiled and nodded. "I agree, and you are wise to point this out. However, if it is a direct answer you want from me, know that diviners never speak the truth or the future outright."

"Fat lot of good you'll be doin' us then," Bosh snorted.

The fortune-teller's brows furrowed. "Impatient, I see. Very well…you've come to ask me…" she closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "Ah…you want me to identify something…something…not even a great blacksmith—your husband," she nodded to Sylvaene, "can appraise. This must be something extremely rare—and extremely powerful."

"Wow," Waffle said. "She actually got that part right."

Bosh looked unconvinced. "So what? She's probably got spies outside the Palace. They saw us come in, maybe even heard a bit of our conversation, and reported back to her."

"Amidst the teeming crowd of people talking about a hundred different things?" the fortune-teller asked, smiling impishly. "Ah, yes. I do have spies standing around and making light talk with the visitors to Payon, and those spies, in a matter of minutes, have managed to somehow sneak in, tell me the exact description of those who wish to speak to me and the exact content of their conversation." She actually giggled. "You've figured me out, swordsman! Amazing. And do you know, precisely, what power you may wield with that little orb at your belt?"

"Now, I don't recall us saying anything about an orb," Waffle said pleasantly. "If it _is_ an orb. To me, it's just—"

"A mere stone, yes," the diviner said, her face growing serious once more. "And it did start out as a mere stone. But it was shaped by a great hand, and imbued with the power that flowed through that hand."

By this time, Sylvaene was listening closely. So this woman was not a false diviner as many Payon natives claimed. "What is it?" she asked.

The diviner looked at her. Then she sighed and pulled down her hood. "Young one, I will be putting myself in great danger if I told you exactly what the stone is. But if I do not tell you, I will be putting the entire world at risk, at a terrible, terrible risk." She dug into the folds of her cloak and pulled out the thousand zeny Bosh had given her. "This is worth nothing to me," she said, returning the money to the swordsman. "I ask only that you will remember me and speak kindly of me and my power as a diviner. Tell people that I helped you once on your quest…a quest that will be named the quest to save the world and all that is good and right within it."

Waffle looked worried. "You sound like you're prepping yourself up for your funeral."

"There's no sense in being unprepared. Besides," the diviner added, dropping her voice to a whisper, "I like adding a bit of melodrama to my predictions. Keeps the customers coming back for more. One may be a true diviner, but one also has to make a living. But I think you—more than your blacksmith brother—know the value of money, yes?"

Waffle let out an embarrassed laugh. "Well…"

Sylvaene delicately cleared her throat.

"Oh, dear, sorry. I forget myself sometimes." The fortune-teller turned to Bosh. "May I see it?" she asked.

Bosh glanced uncertainly at Sylvaene. Sylvaene nodded. The swordsman took out the blue stone and reluctantly handed it over.

The woman took it in her hands, regarding it almost reverently. "So…" she said softly. "It _is_ true. The legends…the whispers…the visions I see…all true." She held it up to the light, examining it from all sides. Then, as if she was suddenly afraid of it, she returned the stone to Bosh.

"What is it?" Sylvaene asked quietly.

The fortune-teller took in a deep breath. "It is the—"

A bolt of lightning suddenly slammed into the diviner. She screamed, her eyes growing wide with pain. Bosh grasped Sylvaene and Waffle by the shoulders and pulled them away from the spell.

"No!" Sylvaene gasped. A slight movement by the curtains alerted her. "K'thaiel, there! Sight!"

Waffle concentrated. "Ruwach!"

There was a sudden surge all around them, and the air rippled as though disrupted by heat waves. A figure appeared by the window, his face distorted by a wicked, ugly leer.

Bosh's eyes widened. "You again!" he yelled.

"Was there really any doubt?" the wizard retorted lazily, brushing stray strands of hair from his face. Sylvaene frowned; the man looked familiar.

The fortune-teller collapsed. Smoke rolled off her robes, and they could see that she had been badly burned. "You bastard," Bosh spat.

The wizard smirked. "What are you complaining about? You didn't like her anyway. Now give me the stone."

"Why is it so important to you?" Sylvaene asked.

The wizard looked her up and down. He smiled. "Well, well, well…look who we have here. A sage." His smiled widened, and his eyes began to glitter. "A sage without her book, without her staff…"

"Oh, this ain't gonna be pleasant," Waffle groaned. He had knelt beside the unconscious fortune-teller and was now gathering her up in his arms.

The wizard raised a hand. "Lightning Storm!"

"Look out!" Bosh grabbed Sylvaene's arm and yanked her bodily out the doorway. Vicious bolts of lightning rained down on them, but they were far enough that it dealt them only minimal damage. Bosh pushed Sylvaene ahead of him and began to run.

"K'thaiel—" she began.

"Can take care of himself, now run, Sylvaene!" Bosh yelled.

There was an explosion behind them, and chunks of the passageway went flying in every direction. The wizard stepped out into the hall and aimed his staff at them. "Cold Bolt!"

Slivers of ice shot past them. One shard took Bosh's eggshell cap off, and another tore up a deep gash in Sylvaene's shoulder. She let out a small cry.

"Almost out!" Bosh panted. "Come on, Sylv!"

Just then, a wall of fire shot up from the ground before them, blocking their path. Bosh and Sylvaene skidded to a stop, throwing their arms up to protect their faces from the heat. Bosh cursed.

"You would not have to go through all this if you had simply left that stone alone," the wizard purred silkily as he strode up the hall toward them. "Now, be sensible, swordsman. Hand over the orb, and I will no longer pursue you or attempt to harm you."

Bosh glared at him. "No way, bozo. You can just kiss my ass."

The wizard stopped. It was obvious that his patience was wearing thin. "Give me the orb or I will burn her alive," he threatened, pointing the staff at Sylvaene.

Bosh knew that Sylvaene's one great weakness was heat. She never truly mastered many fire spells because she could not bear the intense, searing heat that most of them emitted. Even now she stood, trembling slightly, trying not to cringe away from the fire wall at her back. The swordsman gritted his teeth. If he only had his sword…

"Time is fritting away, swordsman," the wizard said. "Give me the orb. Now."

"Don't do it, Bosh," Sylvaene whispered.

The wizard rolled his eyes. "Your family will order a closed coffin for you, dear lady," he said, lifting his staff high into the air. "When I am done with you, you will resemble a deviruchi more than a human being." He bared his teeth in a smile. "Farewell."

"NO!" Bosh yelled.

Sylvaene felt the stirrings of the fire spell. She shut her eyes.

Something came hurtling through the wall of fire, something that flipped end over end at a frightening speed, and it was headed directly for the wizard. The wizard's eyes went wide, and he ducked, his spell disrupted. The object grazed the top of his head, and he tumbled backward, yelping in pain. Sylvaene opened her eyes and stared in wonder at the thing that had just saved her life.

A pushcart.

And then Evrael emerged from the wall of flame, eyes blazing, teeth bared in a snarl. One hand gripped the heavy battleaxe, the other hand was clenched tightly into a fist. The battlesmith stalked toward the wizard, and picked him up by the front of his robes.

"LEAVE—HER—ALONE!" he roared. He hefted his axe and smashed the blunt side of it against the wizard's cheekbone.

The blow sent the wizard sprawling. He got up, brandishing his staff, but Evrael was already there, standing right in front of him, and he aimed a powerful kick at the wizard's shin. The wizard went down with a howl of agony, a howl that was soon followed by others as Evrael rained blow upon blow on him.

"Great Odin!" Waffle exclaimed, materializing out of thin air beside Bosh and scaring the bejeezus out of the swordsman. Waffle carried the fortune-teller in his arms.

"Don't do that!" Bosh exclaimed, clutching at his chest. "You're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days!"

Waffle smiled pleasantly, then turned his gaze back to his older brother. "Go, _Aniki_! Show him what it means to mess with a Firefeather!"

Evrael seemed all too willing to oblige. With an unintelligible roar, he picked up the wizard and threw him against one of the walls. The wall actually cracked. Dissatisfied, Evrael went over to the wizard and did the whole thing over again. "Send assassins into our house, will you? Burn down the Sanctuary, will you? Attack us with undead cretin, will you? Well, take _that!_"

"Don't you think he's overdoin' things?" Bosh asked mildly, watching Ev's rampage.

"Oh, no," Waffle disagreed. "He's actually quite calm about the whole matter. He hasn't uttered a single swear word yet."

"Cretin," Sylvaene cited.

"Oh…but that's just one swear word. And it's actually not a swear word originally, it actually does mean something…"

"Halt!"

Bosh, Sylvaene, and Waffle turned around. The wall of flame had dissipated, and a quartet of guards came rushing up the hall. "Halt, in the name of the law!" the lead guard shouted.

"Just in time," Waffle said. "Guard, arrest that—"

He was rudely cut off. The point of the lead guard's spear rested firmly against his throat. "Put the woman down and surrender, stranger!"

Waffle blinked in surprise. "But—"

"Do it now!"

The priest slowly placed the fortune-teller on the floor, and then just as slowly straightened up. "Guard, you must be mistaken. We—"

"Subdue the blacksmith," the lead guard ordered his men.

Sylvaene turned around. "Evrael," she said.

Evrael stopped at the sound of his wife's voice. He looked over his shoulder. His green eyes darkened as he took in the situation. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

More Payon pike-men came running from the other end of the hall. They lowered their spears menacingly at Evrael.

"You're all under arrest," the lead guard spoke, glaring at Bosh and the others.

"We didn't do anything!" Bosh protested.

"Oh, no?" The lead guard gestured toward the unconscious diviner and the battered wizard at Evrael's feet. "You attacked a peace-loving citizen of Payon and brutalized a visitor to the land, and your blacksmith friend brought a weapon into the Palace, which is illegal by the standards of Payon law!" The guard turned to his men. "Clap them in chains and take them to the dungeons where they will await their punishment. Perhaps a night next to the Payon caves will teach them a lesson."

Night in the dungeon next to the Payon caves was nothing short of nerve-wracking.

The air that drifted down through narrow, barred windows was bitingly cold, and dirty, stagnant water gathered in black pools at almost every step. Every now and then a bat would shriek loudly, frightening most of the inhabitants of the dungeon. The bat shrieks weren't the only cause for fear; the moans and agonized howls of the living dead that infested the caves filtered through the dungeon walls, haunting the unfortunate prisoners within.

Bosh Lightfoot was sitting in lotus position on the floor, his arms folded over his chest. His face was set in a perpetual scowl. Sharing his cell was Waffle Firefeather, who knelt in a corner, meditating. In the cell next to theirs were Evrael and Sylvaene.

"Oi, you guys?" Bosh called out. "You all right?"

"How can anyone get a decent night's rest with all that racket going on?" Evrael complained.

"It's not like we're spending the night at an inn, _Aniki_," Waffle said, a smile appearing on his lips. He kept his eyes closed, looking for all the world like a calm, saintly priest. Which, of course, he wasn't.

"How's the shoulder, Sylvaene?" Bosh asked next.

"Fine, Bosh. Evie here had a couple of red herbs in his pocket." Sylvaene's voice still held the same steady assurance everyone knew. Bosh allowed himself a little sigh of relief. At least they were still relatively unhurt. With that rogue wizard running around, however, anything could happen…at any time.

He turned to Waffle. "Figured out a way out of here yet?"

Waffle opened one eye. "Well, I _could_ try to teleport out of here, but that would still leave us with the problem of how to get _you_ guys out. I can't storm this dungeon all by my lonesome, you know."

"And they've probably put up wards against magic and teleportation all around this prison," Sylvaene added. "We'll just have to wait things out and hope we get a fair trial tomorrow."

Bosh snorted. "Hah! Fat chance, with that rogue wizard testifying against us."

"And _Aniki_ just had to barge into the Palace with all his weapons and his pushcart." Waffle chuckled.

"Well, I had no choice. I heard the explosions and I had to get in there with my axe," came Evrael's rather petulant reply.

"Yes, but did you have to knock the guards at the front door unconscious?"

"They got in the way."

"Hey, that flying pushcart saved Sylvaene's life." Bosh said. "Evrael, my friend, I believe I must congratulate you. You actually invented a new skill! Tell me, what items does a blacksmith need in order to master this unique talent?"

Evrael laughed. "A half-empty pushcart will do."

A couple of guards came stomping in. "Quiet, you!" one of them ordered, banging the prison door with his fist. "Prisoners aren't allowed to talk!"

"So you prefer the moans of the undead for company?" Evrael retorted scathingly. "I never knew the Payon guardsmen were sick in the head."

"Silence, worm!"

"This worm can knock your eyeballs out of their sockets with one tap of his finger," Evrael laughed. "Go ahead and listen to the zombies, Payon filth. One of them would just _have_ to be your great-grandfather, I suppose."

"Why, you son-of-a—"

"Evrael, dear, leave him alone," Sylvaene urged gently. "How can he possibly hear his great-grandfather over the noise you're making?"

"Isn't it possible that one day he'd end up a zombie himself just by being buried in Payon?" Waffle asked in a tone of mock-innocence. "I've heard it could be a curse of the land itself."

"If they had more honest merchants instead of cowardly archers and kill stealers," Bosh began, "maybe the land wouldn't curse them so much."

"Shut your traps, outlanders!" the second guard yelled. "Perhaps you'd like to spend your jail time a little bit closer to the zombies—without your weapons?"

Bosh calmly looked the guard in the eye. "Sure, if you'll escort us there yourselves."

The guards paled. The first one rattled the bars of Bosh's cell with his pike. "You'll get what's coming to you. I've heard that outlanders who break the law of Payon get thrown into the caves with their hands and feet tied and their throats exposed for the zombies to feast on. I hope they give you that sentence!"

"A mere guard," a new voice began quietly, "does not have the right to voice that threat."

The guards whirled around. Standing at the bottom of the stone staircase that led to the dungeon was a lean figure dressed in the assassin's garb. A sakkat was pulled low over the stranger's face.

Evrael growled. "Him again?"

"Who are you?" the first guard asked in a near-shriek.

"I've been sent to deal with your latest prisoners." The assassin took a step forward. "Now open their cell doors."

The second guard pointed the tip of his pike at the assassin. "Not until we see authorization," he demanded in a shaking voice.

The assassin smiled slightly. "You want authorization? Very well…here!"

Quick as lightning, his hands moved. Twin darts zipped through the air and buried themselves in the guards' chests. The guards stumbled backward, hands reaching up for the darts, but then their eyes rolled up into their heads and they fell to the floor in a dead faint.

The assassin let out a breath of resignation. "Idiots," he said, removing the sakkat and grinning widely at Bosh and the others. "Always want to do things the hard way, these lawmen."

"Drifter Gerr!" Bosh exclaimed, getting to his feet.

The young thief winked. "Hello, Bosh. Good to see you're still alive."

"And kicking," Bosh watched as Drifter rifled the guards' pockets for the keys. "Thanks," he said when Drifter let him and Waffle out.

"Evaene's waiting outside," Drifter informed Evrael and Sylvaene as he unlocked the door of their cell.

"What are you two doing here?" Evrael asked.

"We read the note Sylvaene left behind at your house," Drifter said, leading the way up the stairs. "Evaene felt you might need help sooner than you thought, so we bought several peco-pecos and hightailed it here in a jiffy." He grinned. "She's actually quite put out with you, Evrael. She has a suspicion that you were partly responsible for getting the Payon guards all mad at you."

"She's a smart kid," Bosh snickered.

"She takes after her mother," Sylvaene told them, smiling impishly. "And I must say, Drifter, that you look quite dashing in that outfit."

Drifter smiled lopsidedly. "It's not the profession I had in mind for myself, but the skills I learned do come in handy sometimes. And you're right, Sylvaene, the outfit's pretty cool."

Evaene Firefeather, daughter of Evrael and Sylvaene, was crouched in a clump of bushes outside the dungeon. The moment she spotted them, she stood up and rushed to her parents. "Are you all right?" she asked in a hushed voice, throwing her arms around them.

"Relatively," Evrael grinned.

Evaene pulled back and fixed him with a look of irritation. "I told you not to go rushing impulsively into things, Dad!"

"He did it for a good reason this time, Evaene," Bosh chuckled. "What are we waiting for? Let's get out of here while the going's good!"

Evaene nodded. "The peco-pecos are tied to a tree some ways off. You know how noisy they can get! It's this way."

They followed her to a small clearing in the Payon forest where four peco-pecos stood beneath the branches of a huge oak. The birds looked up and squawked in alarm at their approach, but Drifter managed to calm them down. "Noisy buggers, do you want to give the game away?" he asked softly. Turning to the others, he said, "All right, here we go. I'll ride with Evaene. We'll take the southeastern route to Alberta. There are wolves and snakes there, but at least they mind their own business unless provoked."

"Oh, yes," Waffle said, mounting one of the birds. "The other route's full of poison spores, isn't it?"

Drifter shuddered. "Indeed they are. I once went down that route as a novice…" he shuddered again and helped Evaene mount their peco-peco. "Well, compared to that route, the other route's a walk in the park."

"Unless the alpha male in the wolf pack's around," Bosh muttered.

"Can you please not be a pessimist? Just for tonight?" Evrael pleaded as he eased Sylvaene atop their ride. "We've had enough setbacks for one day, and I'd like to think that we can make it to Alberta without further delay."

Suddenly, a shout went up from the village. In a matter of moments, several torches were lit and their bearers were running through Payon, yelling for the guards.

"Doesn't look like it, Evrael," Bosh said, shaking his head. "Doesn't look like it at all."

"Let's not stick around for them to find us, shall we?" Evaene said, taking up the reins. Drifter swung himself up behind her. She dug her heels into the peco-peco's flanks and the bird trotted off, its small wings flapping.

"That _is_ a smart kid you got there, Ev," Bosh complimented, shaking the reins of his peco-peco.

"Shut up and move it," Evrael snapped, leaping up behind his wife and urging the bird into a run. Waffle laughed in amusement behind them, following closely.

They were almost to the path that would lead them to Alberta when a hail of arrows came raining down on them. Evaene gasped and pulled hard on the reins. "Look out!"

Drifter's jamadhars were out in a flash, and he was knocking away any arrow that came too close. "Damn it! Hunters from Payon!"

Bosh ducked as several arrows flew over his head. "They were probably in this area when the alarm sounded off, and somebody sent a carrier hawk with a message to stop us should we come this way."

"Evaene! I see 'em!" Waffle yelled. "Use Holy Light!"

He and Evaene cast the sacred spell in the direction Waffle indicated. There was a collective outcry as the light effectively blinded the hunters, causing their arrows to sail harmlessly overhead.

Their hawks, however, were not blind. The night sky was suddenly filled with the hunting birds, and they came swooping down on the Firefeathers, Drifter, and Bosh, screaming with indignant rage.

"We can't make it through to that path!" Drifter yelled. He snatched the reins from Evaene's hands. "This way!"

"But that'll take us to—" Waffle began.

"Exactly! Come on!"

Bosh's eyes were bulging out of their sockets. "Crazy thief! You're going to the poison spores!"

"Are you afraid of a couple of jumping mushrooms?" Drifter called back over his shoulder.

Bosh turned red. "No, but—"

"Then stop complaining and follow us!"

On they raced through the forest, leaves and twigs slapping against their faces. Overhead, the hawks pursued them, shrieking angrily. Bosh knew that the hunters would not be blinded for long, and they were most probably already in pursuit, accompanied by the full force of the Payon guard. He cursed inwardly; not only were they the target of some mad wizard, they were also fugitives.

"This is most definitely not my week!" he grated.

"Are you kidding?" Waffle exclaimed, surprised. "It's so much fun!"

They reached the area where spores and poison spores roamed freely. At the sight of them, the poison spores began hopping madly, almost gleefully toward them, their noxious scent pervading the air.

"'Scuse us," Drifter called out pleasantly as he and Evaene trampled a spore underfoot.

Bosh looked around; the number of poison spores was, to put it mildly, quite alarming. "Drifter, I don't think this is such a good idea!"

"Trust me!" the thief called back.

"I hate it when he says that," Evrael said.

"Now, dear, be nice," Sylvaene scolded lightly.

"Here come the hawks!" Waffle sang out cheerfully.

The hunting birds came swooping down on them, talons outstretched. Upon seeing the spores, however, the hawks grew distracted. Given a choice between a group of humans whose scent was unfamiliar and their natural enemies, the hawks chose, of course, to attack the poison spores.

Drifter smirked. "That takes care of the hawks."

"What do you have in mind, thief?" Evrael yelled at him.

"Just watch, Evrael!" Drifter shouted back.

They sped on, their peco-pecos making a much better headway through the spore-infested forest than their pursuers. The hunters that followed had to stop and engage the poison spores that moved toward them, and they were unable to fire off any arrows at Bosh and his friends. In moments, the group had left them behind, and they were in the last stretch of woods that led to Alberta.

"And that, simple as it might be, was the plan," Drifter said as he and Evaene slowed to a trot.

Bosh ran a hand through his red hair. "That was the most pitiful excuse for an idea that ever spawned in your head, thief," he grumbled.

"At least we're closer to our destination," Waffle laughed. "And that ride was the most exhilarating one I've ever had! We should do it again!"

Drifter grinned. "Time to move on. We can't stop here; those hunters'll probably manage to clear a path through the spores pretty soon, and we still have to talk to the merchant guild in Alberta about the stone. I think," he added, almost as an afterthought, "that we'll need some disguises."

Bosh groaned. "Not again! I don't want to get back into some silly priestess garb just like the last time!"

Evaene turned halfway in her saddle and gaped at him. "You were in a priestess outfit, Uncle Bosh?" she asked incredulously.

Bosh turned beet red. "Yeah…it was Waf's idea."

Evaene started to giggle.

Drifter looked like he was suppressing a laugh. "Well, changing your gender IS one good way to throw people off-guard, but if you can't pull it off well enough, you'll still get caught. For one thing, were you actually _walking_ like a woman?"

"No…"

"I was, though," Waffle said proudly. "I pulled off being a female mage quite well."

Evaene giggled even harder. Drifter, however, had a huge sweat-drop on his head.

Evrael glanced over his shoulder, watching for any signs of their pursuers. "Well, we're all fugitives now, and we still don't know what that cursed stone really is. What's your plan, thief?"

Drifter rubbed at his chin. Then he snapped his fingers. "I've got it. Evrael and Sylvaene might have to change their age a little, but the rest of us can pass for what I've got in mind."

Bosh looked at him suspiciously. "What _do_ you have in mind?"

Drifter smiled. "Well…"


End file.
